


Hope, Abandoned

by TempestHale



Series: Pandora's Box [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Domestic Violence, Drunk Texting, F/F, F/M, I suck at tagging, Jealousy, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sexting, Tattoos, Vaginal Fingering, see inside for more tags, supportive girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestHale/pseuds/TempestHale
Summary: Crowley meets Luke in the library at uni while cramming for midterms. Classic meet-cute. Luke is sweet, doting, and spoils him with all the attention he craves. Luke's temper is just part of the package, right?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Lilith (Good Omens)/Other(s)
Series: Pandora's Box [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752301
Comments: 64
Kudos: 63





	1. I Can Be Anthony For You

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale/Crowley is the endgame for this series, but Crowley will be going through some shit first. I have based a lot of the Luke/Crowley stuff on my personal experience, but everyone's experience with abuse is unique. If you think you may be triggered, please don't read. Be kind to yourself.

He would never admit it to anyone, but the smell of books turned him on, just a little bit. So choosing the library as the place to study for his Ethics midterm was probably not the best idea he had ever had - he kept getting distracted by the aroma, but there were so many varied philosophers that he had to take notes from, it seemed easier to just sit somewhere he could easily find all of them. The redhead looked between his ever-growing pile of books and his study guide, gave the long-suffering sigh unique to university students cramming for exams, and got up to search for a missing text.

Wandering through the stacks with growing familiarity, the young man gave a quiet “wahoo!” when he found the text he was looking for, and looked up just in time to see a sinfully handsome face frowning at him.

“You’re not seriously taking that book, are you?” the face said.

“Yeah, I am. I need it to study for my Ethics midterm.”

“Shit. So do I.”

The redhead just stared. Normally, he would have just told the other guy to fuck off, but this other guy happened to be cute. Piercing eyes, a strong brow and a few days stubble - _Just fucking take me now!_ thought Crowley. Still, it wasn’t as if they could _share_ the book. The exam was tomorrow morning, and the redhead planned to study all night. 

“Look, I plan to be here studying most of, if not all night,” he sighed. More suffering - never time for flirting, just more studying. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Look, I’ll do whatever--” Handsome Guy stopped, waiting for something. _Oh! He wants me to introduce myself! And I’m just standing here like a tit!_

“Crowley, er. Anthony Crowley,” the redhead said, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

“Anthony. I’m Luke Morgenstern.” Handsome Guy - _No, Luke_ \- reached his left hand out. Crowley reached out with his right hand, then realized it wouldn’t fit, and corrected. Taking Luke’s hand in his own, he felt it was warm and soft, I need help with the wording here the grip strong without crushing, and Crowley wondered what his fingers might feel like somewhere else. A frisson of attraction ran down Crowley’s spine, before he squashed it. There were a couple of more pressing matters at hand.

“Just Crowley’s fine,” he said, then “and about the book--”

“Maybe I could study with you? Then we could share the book?” Luke said at the same time. Their eyes met and Luke’s face broke into a lopsided grin.

“Sorry, you go--”

“No you start--”

Now they were both smiling, and Crowley realized that he hadn’t let go of Luke’s hand yet. He quickly released the limb, and immediately mourned its loss, then felt ridiculous for his line of thinking. Blushing, he stuck his hand in his pocket and tried to start a third time.

“I’m really better when I study by myself,” said Crowley, “but _maybe_ I can give this to you when I’m done with it. Probably shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours, before I’m on to the next guy.” _“On to the next guy?!” What is wrong with you, idiot? Keep dropping_ hints _like that and he’ll know you’d rather be sucking his cock than studying._ Crowley could feel his ears burning.

“Oh my god, thank you! Let me give you my number. You can just text me when you’re done!” Luke gushed while digging a pen out of his satchel and clicking it open with his left hand. Holding out his other hand, palm up, Luke looked at Crowley expectantly.

The redhead’s confused gaze bounced between the outstretched hand to Luke’s striking face before the expectation dawned on him. He laid his hand in Luke’s palm and felt the tingle of attraction run down his spine again. Luke bent his head to write on the back of his hand, while Crowley stared down at his dark brown locks.

_I wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks._

When Luke finished writing his number, he clicked the pen again, and dropped Crowley’s hand with a, “There, now you can text me when you finish, Anthony.”

“It’s just Crowley, actually,” the redhead found himself saying automatically, but Luke just gave him a wink and turned to disappear back into the stacks.

Another ninety seven minutes later, Crowley closed the serendipitous book with a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only two more sections of the study guide, then he could take a power nap with about twenty alarms set on his phone to make sure he wasn’t late for the exam. As the redhead went to set the book onto his towering pile, he caught sight of his hand.

Digging out his mobile from his pocket, he stared at the screen for an interminable amount of time debating whether or not to actually text Luke. On the one hand, Crowley would feel terrible if he didn’t share the book; on the other hand, he was so nervous about texting someone so out of his league that his hands were shaking. Which made dialing the number written on the back of his hand very difficult.

Crowley put his phone down, picking up his pen. He opened up the next book on his list, and began reading, but after each line, he found himself going back to reread it over and over, never absorbing the words. To make things worse, his leg bounced under the table, vibrations growing in strength until the table shook as well, blurring the words altogether. The redhead tipped his head back, eyes closed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _It’s just a book, you bloody idiot,_ he thought. _No reason to get so excited_. Even if it had been a while since a cute guy had paid any attention to him. Since any guy had paid any attention to him, to be honest. And why would they, honestly? Crowley was just a lanky goth with an eye condition and a little too much love for Queen.

He sighed again without looking away from the ceiling, mentally calculating his exam grade if he just quit studying now. _I’ve got 80% of the study guide filled out, and if the professor picks 3 questions--_

A series of knocks, however gentle, startled Crowley from his musing. He slapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a scream and glared at the source of the noise. When he saw that it was Luke bashfully waving and mouthing, “I’m sorry,” Crowley’s face softened and he waved the other into the study room.

Luke entered with a murmured, “Sorry for startling you,” and gave a shy smile that Crowley couldn’t help but return.

“I wasn’t startled,” Crowley lied, and the other man let him have it, for the moment. Picking up the coveted book, the redhead handed it to the brunet.

“Thank you, Anthony, really. You’re a lifesaver”

“It’s just Crowley.” The phrase was a reflex by this point, trying for years to have people call him only by his surname (with about a sixty-percent success rate), but twice now Luke had called him Anthony. _What the hell?_

“But Anthony is such a sexy name. Is there a reason you don’t go by it?” Luke sat down in the chair across from the redhead, propping his chin on his hand.

Meanwhile, Crowley’s brain was going through a forced reboot. The most attractive man that he had laid eyes on in several months had called him sexy. Well, his given name. _He said my given name was sexy. What am I supposed to do with that? Oh my fuck! Am I blushing? I’m probably blushing. Shit, I have to say something!_

“I -- Ngk. I just… no real reason, just always preferred Crowley, ‘sall,” he squeaked.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Luke smirked, then purred, “Anthony.”

“Ngk.”

Luke got up in one smooth motion, making for the exit with the textbook. Just before he opened the door, he looked back at Crowley.

“Good luck studying.”

“G-- er, you too, Luke.”

As soon as Crowley was certain the other man was gone for good, he let his forehead hit the table with a _thunk_ . Why did he have to be so fucking awkward all the time? Is this what tumblr meant by the “Disaster Gay” tag? Had everyone on that fucking site been privy to every awkward moment of his life and come up with a tragic (albeit very catchy) moniker just for him? _Other people cannot possibly function like this, right?_

For the rest of the night, no matter how much the redhead tried to focus on his school work, his thoughts kept coming back to the tempting man with the book.

After the exam, Crowley headed back to his flat for a well-deserved nap. As he made the short walk, he pulled out his phone to check any messages. Anathema had promised to text him that she had made it home safe after her early morning “Walk of Pride, Thank You Very Much,” but hadn’t so far. If she hadn’t checked in by now, he was planning to call her, even if he interrupted her class.

Scrolling through, he found that, yes, Anathema had made it back to her dorm, and then later, headed to class even though she had a “raging hangover X.x.” He found he was now committed to a burlesque show on Thursday night - “girls night” she called it. _Mad American witch, she is_ , he thought. _But still my best friend._

Crowley shot a quick message to the owner-and-manager of the burlesque theatre where he and Anathema liked to perform to confirm their Thursday show before scrolling to the end of his messages.

Crowley stared at the photo for a full minute before remembering that his lungs needed air, and probably resented him holding his breath so long. Blinking slowly, Crowley started to type a reply, deleted it; began again, trashed it. This process repeated itself several times over, the redhead agonizing over the right combination of words.

Crowley pumped his fist in the air, thanking Somebody, anybody, that he had managed to gain the attention of the devilishly good-looking man. He should probably tell Anathema - _we are girl friends, after all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	2. The Honeymoon Period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: rough kissing/hair pulling. Also, social drinking and drunk texting.  
> If you think you may be triggered, please don't read. Be kind to yourself.  
> Other things: mentions of the foster care system, diet culture, and Crowley's raging insecurity.

Crowley chuckled at the desperate text messages from his supposedly “too hungover to function” friend and pocketed his phone. He had places to be, after all.

* * *

Crowley knocked on Luke’s door, trying not to fidget with the strap of his satchel. He let out a breath of relief when the door opened, the brunet smiling.

“Hey, Anthony. Let me grab my keys, and I’ll take us for lunch—is that okay?”

Crowley, who had been under the, apparently mistaken, impression that Luke had invited him over just for sex, blushed furiously.

“Yeah, of course. Where to?”

“There’s an Ethiopian place I know not too far from here, if that sounds good?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had Ethiopian cuisine, but I’ll try anything.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how they sounded, and his cheeks grew redder. _He doesn’t know your bag is full of condoms and lube, you idiot, so stop acting like it!_

“You’ll love it,” Luke reassured him. His beaming smile betrayed nothing.

* * *

Upon arriving at the restaurant, Luke opened the door for Crowley and pulled out his chair. For a moment Crowley wondered if he would order for him, too, like in films. But when the waiter came to take their drink orders, and Luke asked for water, then just patiently waited for Crowley to choose something.

“What would you recommend?” the redhead asked the waiter, as he typically found himself doing in a new restaurant. He turned to face the young server when he answered.

“It depends on what you plan on ordering, but if you haven’t had it before, the yekemem shai is very nice. It’s a spiced tea, served hot or iced.”

“Sounds good, mate, thanks. Iced, then, I think,” Crowley stated, and the waiter took his leave. He turned back to Luke.

“So, what’s your favorite thing on the menu, since you’ve been here before, and I haven’t?”

“I like the sampler, here,” Luke said, pointing on Crowley’s open menu, “because you get a little bit of everything. And it’s all great.”

“Sounds fantastic! Is it big enough to share? Or should I get my own?”

“It’s plenty big enough; I always have leftovers. We will probably just need extra _injere_.”

“Wossat?”

“Bread. Like a flat sourdough. You eat with it.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just kill me with that book? Am I in heaven now?” Crowley teased. “I fucking love bread. Any kind, really. ‘S my favorite food.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at you,” Luke gave Crowley a once-over. “You’re so slim.”

The redhead’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Erm, thanks? So, er,” he paused, trying to navigate the awkwardness between them. Though Luke didn’t seem bothered by it. The brunet just gazed at Crowley patiently, slight smirk confounding him more and more. “What’s your major?” seemed like safe enough discourse.

“Pre-medical. I plan to transfer to London after undergrad. What about you? Are you pre-med too? I mean, we are in the same Ethics course, after all.”

“Pre-law actually. I thought it was super weird that not everyone in the course was pre-law, but I looked it up, and apparently that is the basic Ethics course required for like 12 different majors.”

“Ah,” Luke said, nodding. “So what do you want to do with law? Obviously you’re going to do the graduate program as well, right?” Luke gestured vaguely, as if to say, _what else do you do with a pre-law degree?_

“Oh, yeah. I want to practice family law, ultimately. Protect children from abusive parents, that sort of thing.”

“What made you wanna do that, Anthony? Sounds awfully bleak, to me.”

“I mean, er, surely there will be parts that are disheartening, but when you manage to help a kid out of a tough situation—it means the world to the kid. It’s not…” Crowley stopped to consider his next words carefully. “It’s not necessarily about changing the world, or even the system. Although that would be nice! It’s just about helping those that you can. Because it means everything to them.”

“How do you know?”

“What?” 

“How do you know what it means to them?” Luke repeated the question. He leaned forward, chin in hand waiting for Crowley to answer.

“I-- I--” Crowley swallowed, then paused for a moment. He hadn’t thought about this in years; he hadn’t talked about it in longer. Not aloud to anyone outside a court-appointed counselor. Ever. _Am I really going to spill my guts to a guy I’ve known for less than 24 hours?_

“I was in the system. It was not… good” _Fuck, I guess I am_.

Luke nodded, as if this answered everything. Maybe it did? _Do I just give off a vibe?_ Crowley wondered, _A big, flashing neon sign above my head “Broken - Mind the Sharp Edges!”_ The redhead couldn’t bring himself to meet the other’s eyes, and wrapped his hands around his glass so hard his knuckles went white. He stared at the table, unseeing. As his eyes filled with tears, every memory of his foster father hit him at once, like a particularly vengeful lorry. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still, then maybe Luke wouldn’t notice him falling completely apart.

A single fingertip brushed Crowley’s chin, the lightest of touches lifting his face. He still couldn’t meet Luke’s eyes, gazing down at the table. When a hand settled against his face, thumb tenderly stroking his along his cheekbone, Crowley nearly jumped out of his chair.

“It’s okay, you know,” Luke breathed. “I don’t care. I mean-- I _care_ ,” Luke corrected himself, “but it-- it doesn’t change how I see you.”

Crowley finally lifted his eyes. “It doesn’t?” He sniffed, wiping his eyes with a sleeve. 

“Not at all. Now, let’s leave the sad stuff for now and order lunch, yeah?” Luke gestured for the server. The brunet’s smile was infectious, and Crowley found himself returning it by the time their order had been taken back to the kitchen.

* * *

As they walked back from the restaurant, Crowley fought with the desire to hold Luke’s hand. The lunch date had gone well - _it was a date, right? I mean, we split the cheque, but we shared a plate. Well, I suppose Ethiopian is meant to be served that way. And he touched my face. A man doesn’t touch another man’s face unless he’s interested… right?_

Crowley vacillated wildly between very nearly grabbing the other man’s hand, and jamming his own hands in his pockets to keep himself from a disastrous mistake. For his part, Luke kept up a pleasant chatter, not seeming to notice the redhead’s nerves. 

By the time they made it back to Crowley’s flat, Crowley had worn a hole in the pocket of his trousers, and he was wondering how the fuck he was supposed to unlock his door with his palms sweating so profusely. _I’m going to drop my keys, I’m going to drop my keys, I’m going to drop my keys…_

Luckily, his anxiety proved pointless, and he opened the door with no issue. Crowley turned to tell Luke goodbye and promise to text him, but the brunet beat him to the punch.

“I’ll text you,” Luke assured him. His lips curved upward in a smile. The redhead noticed his eyes crinkling at the corners and let out a giggle. Crowley was a sucker for “smizing”--he had watched every episode of _America’s Next Top Model_ with gusto, and he had adopted the term into his mental vocabulary. _Luke could be a model,_ Crowley thought _, those fucking eyes._

Luke raised a brow in question, but let the odd quirk go without comment. Instead he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the redhead’s cheekbone - in the same place that he had brushed with his thumb earlier.

Without another word, Luke turned and left. Crowley stood in his own threshold, breathless and blushing, hand pressed to his burning cheek. _I guess it_ was _a date._

__

Crowley got out wine glasses, and grabbed a bottle of moscato from his fridge to open and breathe before Anathema arrived. Then, he went ahead and ordered a pizza to be delivered in a few hours as well. He wasn’t hungry, having just had lunch, but would be by supper time. They normally did wine and pizza on Thursdays after burlesque, but this was a special occasion.

Anathema let herself into his flat with her usual aplomb, twirling skirts, and large tote bag - probably full of star charts and tarot cards. She would need to determine his compatibility with Luke, obviously.

“Crowley, oh. My. Goddess! How was it? Was it like a ‘soft, shy, sweet’ kiss? Or a ‘push me up against the wall and fuck me’ kiss?”

“That’s one way to greet a person. _Hi, Crowley. How are you?_ Oh I’m fine, Anathema. My midterm went well. What about yours?” he glared playfully at her. Then, subdued, “Besides, it was just on the cheek.”

“What was? Oh! The kiss!” Anathema cried. “Tell me _exactly_ how it happened,” she pressed.

“Not much to tell, honestly.” Crowley poured them each a glass of the sweet wine. “He walked me back to my flat, promised to text me and then he kissed my cheek. That’s it.”

“That’s _fantastic_ , Crowley! When was the last time you even had a date?”

“Seriously, Ana?”

“I’m totally serious. You need a good dicking, my friend. You’re way too tightly wound,” the witch gestured with her wine, sloshing some over the side of the glass. “You’re on track to graduate with honors _and_ have any number of graduate programs to pick from in a few months. The amount of stress you put on yourself is unhealthy.”

Crowley hummed, considering as he sipped his wine. _Not the “need a good dicking” portion, but the stress portion. She may have a point about that_. 

“In any case, there’s not much to do now but wait for him to text,” he said

“Except,” she declared, digging into her bag and triumphantly holding up a deck of cards, “ _this!”_ Even though Crowley had seen the tarot cards coming, he still hadn’t had enough wine to stave off the embarrassment of having his fortune read. He groaned as Anathema laid out the cards on the kitchen counter.

* * *

Crowley peeked out from behind the curtain for the fifth time in as many minutes. Anathema rolled her eyes at the redhead, grabbing his hand to lead him back to the vanity so she could finish styling his hair. 

“Would you quit worrying? I can _feel_ your aura and it’s throwing off my rhythm,” she complained as she forced him down in a chair, curling iron in hand. She captured a lock of crimson hair to apply heat as she continued her rant. “He will be here - he said so. Just trust in the Universe, Crowley.”

Crowley was having none of this talk, and tried to shake his head, forgetting about the hot styling tool in his friend’s hand. He hissed as his ear caught on the iron, jerking away and simultaneously pulling his hair.

“Fuck, Ana! Are you trying to maim me?”

“No, idiot! I’m trying to do the up-do that _you_ requested, but you keep _moving!_ Stay still,” she tapped him on the head with a brush. Though he pouted the entire time, Crowley had to admit that his hair looked amazing when the witch put the final coat of hairspray on it. She had curled all of his shoulder-length hair, then pinned it back into a [ faux-hawk ](https://www.google.com/search?q=shoulder+length+hair+faux+hawk&safe=strict&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS796US796&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiLxcipvbbpAhWJvZ4KHRDjDJMQ_AUoAXoECAwQAw&biw=1536&bih=722#imgrc=mw-kuu-OwlMTaM), giving him a classy-but-modern look to go with his costume.

The costume consisted of a black, sequined corset and satin pants boasting ruffles on the arse. Under these, he wore a garter belt attached to thigh high stockings trimmed with the same ruffles as his boyshorts. The finishing touch were his stilettos, also black and tall enough to make him tower over just about anyone.

He tapped the toes of the shoes against the stage as he bit at his thumb nail. “Is he there yet?” Crowley asked Anathema, pushing her toward the curtain this time to check. While she peeked from backstage, she waved to her boyfriend, Newt, and a hand landed on Crowley’s shoulder. The redhead spun around in shock, bumping into Anathema as he moved.

“Lilith!” he cried, “What are you doing back so soon?”

The tall woman leaned in to buss a kiss to Crowley’s cheek in greeting, “You know I couldn’t stay away from Sammy for too long.” Lilith’s eyes lit up when she mentioned her girlfriend. “Besides, California was too hot.”

“Is she here? Is she sitting with Newt?” Crowley liked Lilith and Sammy. The couple was slightly older, in their late twenties, and always up for a good time and often joined him and Anathema on Girls’ Night.

“Too hot?” Anathema piped up. “But you were in San Francisco? And it’s March.”

Lilith waved this concern away, “So who is the mystery man Ana was telling me all about, Crowley?”

Crowley glared at Anathema who simply turned to leave in a swirl of long skirts. Lilith leveled a look at him, waiting patiently for his response.

“HisnameisLukeandhesaidhewouldbehere,” Crowley let out in a single breath. Then he covered his face with his hands, remembering expertly applied kohl eyeliner and false eyelashes at the last moment before he would have to redo his makeup. Which would have earned him a whole new scolding from Ana, whose makeup he was borrowing, and he really didn’t have the patience after she tried to scalp him while doing his hair.

“If he said he would be here then he will be,” Lilith patted Crowley’s bare shoulder. “You know in your gut whether he’s a good guy or not. If you trusted him enough to invite him here, then he is a good enough guy to actually show up.”

Crowley released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks, Lil. When did you get so smart?”

“When I stopped dating men after divorcing my ex-husband,” she smirked. “Oh shit, two minutes to curtain—I’ll see you out there! Break a leg!”

* * *

Crowley’s performance fell just before intermission, and he still hadn’t managed to spot Luke in the crowded audience. By the time Madame Tracy pushed him out onto the stage, he had tamped down the nerves to slip into his “burlesque headspace.”

For his act, Crowley chose _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ by Queen, because the song lent itself to the tempting movements of his dance.

During the first verse, the redhead swiveled his hips slowly, back turned toward the audience. As he lost himself in the lilting piano and voice of Freddie Mercury, Crowley lifted his arms above his head and stroked his left hand down from his right elbow to the wrist, then gently tugged on each finger of the opera glove he wore. Then, peeking coyly over his shoulder at the audience, he bit the tip of the middle finger of the glove, pulling his hand back to bare more of his golden skin. Crowley stretched the glove and snapped it against his hip in time with _“hey boy,”_ before flinging it toward the end of the stage.

For the second verse, he turned to face the crowd, stalking forward with the beat. Crowley bent his knees and slapped his thighs invitingly at the line _“Come and sit on my hot-seat of love.”_ The move was met with catcalls and applause which fueled the dancer’s confidence.

The next two lines of the verse saw Crowley teasing the crowd with the buttons of the waistcoat he wore over his corset. By the time Freddie Mercury was _writing a letter and feeling much better_ , Crowley had divested of the garment, and like the gloves, tossed it aside. 

The redhead hummed to himself as he put on a come-hither expression and twirled the ribbons on his corset. He ran fingertips along his collarbone and traced the sides of his torso invitingly. The second-to-last line of the verse was Crowley’s cue to pop open the corset, and then opened and closed the front of it in beat with _“love you, love you.”_

When the tone of the song changed, Crowley lost the corset altogether, the only thing preserving his modesty a pair of heart-shaped pasties over his nipples as he strutted along the stage.

For the final verse, he alternated between running his hands over his exposed skin and teasing at the edge of his ruffled boyshorts. As the verse finished, he turned away from the crowd and pulled quickly, the boyshorts ripping strategically at the sides to break away easily, revealing his G string underneath. 

The frenzy of the crowd nearly drowned out the rest of the song. Catcalls and whoops rang in Crowley’s ears as he finished his act. His final move was one that not even many of the women at the theatre could pull off—as the song ended, he dropped into a full split, legs splayed across the stage, arse on display and hands in the air.

* * *

After taking a bow, and letting the stage lights flick off, Crowley scurried off the stage to change into his street clothes. He never had managed to spot Luke in the crowd, especially with the lights shining in his eyes, and now he wanted to find him and talk to him. Or at least to his friends, since he was riding the high of performing and wanted to keep the buzz rolling for a while. He wiggled his way into his skinnies and threw on an old band tee before making his way to the bar for a glass of whiskey.

“That was amazing, Anthony,” said a voice to his left. Crowley jumped, turning to face the voice, _How do they know my name?_ calming when he laid eyes on Luke. Crowley beamed - he had made it after all! And seen the show!

“You made it!”

“Of course I did,” Luke laughed, “I said I would, didn’t I?” He pointed to Crowley’s drink. “Let me get that. Do you want anything else? Are you hungry?”

“Such a gentleman,” Crowley smiled, “and I’m fine. I ate a little before I went on. And now I’m way too jazzed to have an appetite.” He picked up his whiskey and took a generous sip. “Have a drink with me and my friends?”

“I’d love to.” Luke ordered a beer and joined Crowley to weave through the crowded pub to find the table where Anathema, Newt, Lilith and Sammy had planted themselves for the show. When he saw a shock of short platinum blonde locks, Crowley waved, catching Sammy’s eye. She waved back and scooted her chair over to make room for the two men making their way over.

Luke pulled out a chair for Crowley and stroked his hand over the redhead’s shoulder as he came around his left side to take his own seat. Crowley could feel the heat rising in his cheeks from the simple touch and hoped no one noticed.

“Ah, so you must be the famous Luke!” Anathema reached across the table to shake his hand, and Crowley’s face lit up as the brunet and the witch shook hands. “Tell us _all_ about yourself,” she said, giving him a pointed stare.

“Luke Morgenstern, university student, pre-medical. Newly-converted burlesque enthusiast,” after the last bit, the brunet turned to Crowley with a grin.

The rest of the night continued much in the same vein, and Crowley felt himself falling under Luke’s spell. The other man’s charm was turned up to eleven, and no one was immune—not even Lilith.

He ordered the Uber to drive them back to their respective flats after a long round of “nice to meet yous” and promises to come back. While in the car, Luke held Crowley’s hand, much to the redhead’s delight.

“You were so tempting on stage, Anthony. I wanted to jump up there, throw you over my shoulder and take you for myself!” Luke squeezed his hand, just this side of too hard.

Crowley shivered with desire and squeezed back. The tip of his ears were burning, and he thanked Somebody for the dark interior of the Uber.

“I’m glad you liked it. I was thinking of you when I picked the song.”

Luke leaned in, pulling Crowley’s hand toward himself, wrapping his other hand around the back of his head, fingers tangling in his fiery hair. They shared a breath, heat of lust passing between them before Luke pressed their lips together.

It was unlike any kiss Crowley had ever experienced. Their teeth clashed, Luke tightening his hold in Crowley’s hair. The redhead hissed, and the other bit at his bottom lip, pulling at it with his teeth.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” Luke purred.

The car came to a stop, and the two men realized that they had arrived at Crowley’s flat. Luke let go of the redhead’s hand and hair, swiping a thumb across his swollen bottom lip.

“Text me later, Anthony.” Luke said. Crowley never considered _not_ texting him. _Who could say no to someone who kisses like_ that _?_

* * *

As Crowley got ready for a shower, he removed his makeup and took out all the pins in his hair. As he brushed out his hair, he noticed a spot at the base of his skull that stung when he ran the brush through the strands. 

He checked for tangles and errant bobby pins, but finding none, he poked a fingertip at his scalp. He checked it—no blood. Shrugging, the redhead jumped in the shower to rinse off the sweat and grime of the stage, and perhaps entertain himself with thoughts of a certain brunet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	3. Red Flags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-con!!!!  
> “No” does not mean “convince me.”  
> A panic attack is not a yes - it should be a mood-killer, and if it’s not, it should at least warrant some serious conversation before continuing.  
> Anything aside from enthusiastic, on-going consent is not a yes.  
> Also, heavy diet-culture/body-shaming.  
> Please, be kind to yourself.

Crowley woke with the sun, stretching languorously and twisting himself in his bedsheets. He felt blindly at the nightstand for his phone and tapped out a “good morning” to Luke, complete with a kissy face emoji. Then he untangled himself from his bed, getting up to start watering all his plants.

Starting in the bedroom, he misted Eddie, a hanging golden pothos, and gave some stern words to Sasha, the giant white bird of paradise next to his bureau. She looked just a tad wilty around the edges, so despite his harsh warnings, Crowley gave her a little extra water as well.

From there he moved to the living area where Ziggy and his brothers, Buzz, Lettice, and Pablo lived. Ziggy, a pinstripe plant, was Crowley’s favorite, and as such, earned himself a place on the end table next to the sofa where he liked to study and watch telly.

“How are you, Big Stripey Boy? Have you been behaving?” The redhead leaned down to inspect Ziggy’s leaves for spots or wilting and found only perfection. “Look at Ziggy, all you slackers! He’s working harder than all of you, and if you don’t shape up it’s the garbage disposal for you lot!”

He finished his rounds with the plants, turning on his coffee maker and settling on the sofa to study until the afternoon when he had his only lecture for the day. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was Luke.

* * *

Crowley rushed from class to the grocery, then home to prepare dinner. He wasn’t a Michelin rated chef, but he was competent and confident in the kitchen, and he loved experimenting with different flavors. For tonight, falling back on an old favorite seemed to be the safest course of action. He put the groceries away in the fridge, including the chardonnay he hoped would pair well with the chicken.

The first thing to start was the bread, a simple [ French loaf ](https://www.melskitchencafe.com/french-bread/) that would pair nicely with the meal he had planned. He combined yeast, warm water, and sugar to make a frothy liquid and added salt, olive oil, and flour to this. Once he had a ball of dough that came away from the sides of the bowl, he kneaded it for a few minutes, then plopped it into a different, greased bowl and covered it with greased plastic wrap to let the dough rise while he concentrated on other portions of the meal.

He had quite a bit of time to let the dough rise, but he was also very organised when it came to cooking, so he began preparing veggies and spices for his main course. Dicing shallots, mincing garlic, and slicing golden potatoes calmed some of the redhead’s nerves as he got into a rhythm. Then he chopped off the ends of the asparagus so it would be ready for sauteing. He pre-measured the lemon juice, heavy cream and chicken stock, then put everything in the fridge to stay cold until he was ready to make the chicken.

Crowley scrolled through his social media and text messages while the dough finished its first proof. When his timer went off, he lifted the cling wrap off of the dough and inhaled deeply, basking in the yeasty scent. He [ turned ](https://www.google.com/search?safe=strict&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS796US796&ei=IwLLXoPDGIjB0PEPxuy46A0&q=turn+dough&oq=turn+dough&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAA6BAgAEEc6BAgAEEM6BQgAEIMBOgUIABCRAjoECAAQClCgsQVYob0FYLi_BWgAcAF4AIABrAGIAe4JkgEEMC4xMJgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXo&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwjD4ILL0s3pAhWIIDQIHUY2Dt0Q4dUDCAw&uact=5#kpvalbx=_fgLLXqyREcXT-gT9soxg51) the dough, then split it in half to form two loaves. He used his sharpest knife to make even slices diagonally across the top of each loaf, then covered them in greased plastic wrap for their second proof. Now he had just enough time for a couple of episodes of _The Golden Girls_ before he started the chicken.

By the time Rose had delivered her eulogy to a plane of confused but supportive passengers, Crowley was back in the kitchen preheating the oven, taking the wine out of the fridge to breathe, and setting up his _mise en place_ for the chicken and asparagus. _Do I watch too much Food Network? Nah, no such thing._

When the oven beeped to let him know it was ready, both loaves of bread went in, and he began heating two pans on the stovetop with olive oil and butter. Along with the baking bread, the flat began to smell scrumptious, and the redhead’s stomach growled.

Crowley added chicken to one pan, the asparagus to the other, and seasoned both with salt and pepper. The chicken browned, so he flipped it over to cook from the other side, and tossed the asparagus before putting the lid on it to help it steam. Once the chicken was cooked through, he put it aside, and added his pre-measured chicken stock to the pan along with the shallots, garlic and thyme. The fragrance of the mixture was homey and comforting as he stirred the liquid. Adding potatoes, salt and pepper, then covering the pan with the lid to cook he checked on the asparagus and the bread. Then he took the break from the stovetop to clean up his counter and the dishes he had used.

When Crowley came back to the stove, the potatoes were soft - in went lemon juice, lemon slices, and cream to finish the sauce for the chicken and potatoes. He let it simmer until it thickened, then he added the chicken back in and covered the [chicken in the sauce](https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipes/a50267/creamy-lemon-chicken-recipe/), covering the pan once again to let everything heat through. Crowley tasted the asparagus to find it was perfectly cooked - not soggy at all, but not raw either, and it had taken on the flavor of the olive oil and butter nicely.

The timer for the bread dinged and that’s when the redhead finally noticed the time. It was 7:02 PM, and he had managed to time everything perfectly for Luke’s arrival. He had just made himself so busy he hadn’t even noticed the time passing.

He hoped Luke would be on time. It would be such a waste for this meal to go cold, and Crowley knew he would lose his appetite if the other man failed to show up. Luckily, that was the moment the buzzer for his flat made him jump, and he tripped over his feet to get to it.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” said the tinny version of Luke’s voice through the speaker. “Let me in?”

“Sure thing.” As soon as Crowley pressed the button, all the nerves that he had been avoiding by puttering around the kitchen hit him full force.

_I haven’t set the table!_

_I haven’t tidied up!_

_What am I even wearing? Am I sweating? Do I smell?_

_What if he’s allergic to something I cooked! Oh my god!_

The redhead scrubbed a hand across his face, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself before Luke made it upstairs. _What can you do right now? What can you_ control?he asked himself. This technique had helped him more than he cared to admit when dealing with panic in the past.

_Just set the table. Two plates, two sets of silverware. And if you’re still working on it when he gets here, so be it._

Crowley managed to set the last fork down just as Luke knocked, and gave himself a mental pat on the back. At least he would look somewhat put together.

“Hi, come on in. Dinner’s just finished.” Crowley said by way of greeting.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way, Anthony,” Luke reassured him. “I’m in uni—if it’s not ramen, it’s posh to me.”

Crowley blushed. “I enjoy cooking. Watch a lot of Food Network.”

“It smells amazing. Did you bake bread?” Luke pointed to the loaves cooling on the counter.

“Er, yeah,” the redhead rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s not a big deal. I really like baking.”

“I do remember you saying it was your favorite food. Is that why you learned to make it?”

Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise that Luke would recall such a minute, and mundane, detail from their first date. He nodded mutely, and began making his way into the kitchen to plate the chicken and asparagus so he could bring it to the small table he had in his living area. Then he remembered his manners.

“Do you want the quickie tour before we eat?”

“Sure,” Luke said. Crowley spread his arms and spun in a slow circle.

“As you can see, this is the kitchen and living area. I actually chose this flat because it’s open concept.” He rounded the counter and started toward his bedroom, pointing out plants as he went.

“This is Ziggy, there are Buzz and Pablo. Over there is Lettice. And here in my room are Eddie and Sasha,” he finished, holding the door so Luke could look in. Crowley thanked his fastidious nature for having his bed made and a relatively clean living space, even though he hadn’t really put any time into tidying up.

Luke nodded appraisingly at his room and pointed at a door. “Is that the loo?”

“Yeah. Just, yanno, feel free.” Crowley rubbed at his neck again, glad to have pulled his hair into a low pony while he was cooking, since having access to his neck seemed to be extremely necessary at the moment.

“I like it, Anthony. It’s clean and simple. Very modern, but homey,” Luke smiled at him as he gave his assessment of the flat, which caused Crowley to smile in return. “Let’s eat, yeah?”

* * *

“Anthony, this is delicious!” Luke cried, jabbing another spear of asparagus onto his fork. “I’m kind of glad you don’t cook for me all the time— I’d probably gain a stone just from bread alone!”

Crowley had just sliced off a third hunk of the loaf when Luke said this, then thought better of it. He was feeling quite full already, and the bread could be packaged and saved for another day. When Luke saw him put the bread back, he beamed.

“Have you ever tried zucchini pasta?” Luke asked, _apropo_ of nothing.

“Um, no. But I think my mixer has an attachment to make them. I’d have to look for it. Why?” Crowley cocked his head trying to picture the inside of his kitchen drawers.

“They have so many less carbs than traditional pasta, and potatoes!” Luke speared a potato and held it up in example. “This meal is fantastic, but it’s so unhealthy. Surely you don’t eat like this all the time.”

“‘S’not unheal—I mean, I don’t cook all the time, so. I, er…” the redhead trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“What I mean is,” Luke began, seeming to notice Crowley’s growing discomfort with this line of conversation, “that you look so fit, and I know I wouldn’t be able to keep so trim on the same diet. That’s all.” He smiled bashfully, which Crowley found impossibly attractive.

“Luke, you have nothing to worry about. You are literally the most attractive man I’ve ever met.” The redhead gasped in surprise at his confession—that had been an inside thought. He hadn’t meant to _say_ it.

“Oh, I am, am I?” Luke’s smile took on a smirking quality as he stood from his chair and rounded the table. When he stood at Crowley’s right, the redhead pivoted in his chair, tilting his head up to face the brunet. Luke leaned in to capture his lips, softly at first, but quickly growing hungrier and more desperate. Crowley stood without disengaging from the kiss to wrap his arms around Luke’s neck, his right hand tangling in the chocolate locks. 

Someone moaned; the sound reverberated behind Crowley’s teeth. They stumbled backward onto the sofa with a soft “oof!” of surprise. Crowley sucked Luke’s bottom lip into his mouth, grazing lightly with his teeth. Luke answered by grabbing Crowley’s hips to hold the redhead in place, then lifting his own to grind his half-hard cock against Crowley’s.

“Fuck, Luke,” Crowley whined as he turned his head, allowing the brunet better access to suck a love bite into the pale column of flesh. Between the bruising grip on his hips and the sting of teeth on his neck, Crowley found himself wanting to go much further than a simple kissing. Further than even clothed frottage.

_This is too much._

_We’re going too fast._

_I’m gonna fuck this up._

“Luke, Luke. Stop. Stop!”

“What? What’s wrong?” The brunet looked at him with blown pupils and swollen lips, dazed with arousal.

“This is—this is too fast. We need to slow down,” Crowley panted. 

“Um, okay,” Luke breathed, shifting underneath the redhead. “Do you wanna—do you wanna just stop?”

“I—no. I just don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want this to be just a one-off sort of deal, and I’m afraid if we start now then you’ll just get tired of me.” Crowley hid his face in his hands, and did his best to breathe deeply. His heart raced, sweat prickled on his forehead; the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Anthony,” Luke whispered. When Crowley didn’t look at him, he raised his voice, “ _Anthony. Anthony!”_ The loud noise got through the fog of panic, and the redhead scooted backward on the sofa, legs folding up. Luke stroked his hands over Crowley’s legs, drawing circles on his knees with his thumbs as he spoke, “you’re okay. I’m not going to just ditch you because we fu--have sex once. I’m not going to get tired of you. How could I?”

Crowley just hiccoughed in response. Luke fit himself into the right-hand corner of the couch, Crowley’s usual spot, and beckoned the redhead to sit in his lap. Once curled into the brunet’s embrace, Crowley found himself soothed by nonsensical designs Luke drew on his back with his broad hands. Then startled when he felt lips on his neck.

Tongue following the path of the lips, licking over his lips, demanding entrance.

Teeth nipping.

Hands roving.

Clothes shifting. Then gone.

Crowley wasn’t entirely certain how they had even gotten to this point, but Luke was on top of him, one knee on the sofa, the other leg kicked out barely gripping the floor.

“Lube?”

“Wha?” The redhead blinked up at the other man, lost.

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Luke whispered softly and offered two fingers to Crowley’s mouth. He obliged, feeling dazed. Tasted salt on Luke’s skin.

Felt pressure at his entrance, then burning as the other pressed in with far too little lubrication.

Wet heat around his cock.

Wrapper tearing. 

More blunt pressure. 

Bigger. 

_Too much,_ he thought.

Luke was inside him. The realization rolled over him in waves. Before Crowley could fully process the situation, a thrust hit his prostate and his hips lifted off the sofa of their own accord. Luke grabbed behind his knees and lifted his legs for better leverage. Crowley moaned breaking the near silence of skin-on-skin.

“Fuck, Anthony, you feel so perfect around my cock,” Luke answered, “So fucking tight.”

The praise hit a spot in Crowley’s psyche that aroused him more than the head of Luke’s dick hitting his prostate. He keened and reached to stroke his cock in time with Luke’s thrust.

“I’m close,” the brunet panted. His thrusts lost their rhythm, growing erratic as he approached his peak. His grip on Crowley’s legs grew to bruising, groaning as he chased his pleasure. 

A fat drop of precum gathered at the tip of Crowley’s cock, which he swiped over the head with his thumb to slick the way for his hand. A half dozen more slick strokes and the redhead came in stripes across his own chest and stomach. He clenched down on Luke, whose strokes stuttered as he filled the condom.

The brunet collapsed forward onto his forearms, looming over Crowley, panting breaths mingling. Luke licked at Crowley’s lips, then they were kissing, passionately like before the redhead had started panicking. 

“Shower?” Luke murmured. Crowley nodded.

They disentangled. Stood up.

Hot water beat down on his back.

Crimson locks stuck to his neck, wet and heavy.

Luke whispered, breath hot in his ear.

He was on his knees.

Hand in his hair.

Cock in his mouth.

Eyes closed.

_Don’t gag. Don’t gag._

_Just breathe._

_Swallow._

When Crowley opened his eyes next, he lay in his bed, Luke’s arm thrown over his chest. The streetlamp streamed in the window, illuminating the tall brunet and casting the rest of the room in shadow. _Did I really just blow him in the shower?_ Crowley wracked his brain, trying to remember exactly what had happened after he and Luke had had sex. That he didn’t seem to remember how the sex had started didn’t surprise him either. _Fucking stupid fucked-up brain._ In the end, he decided it didn’t matter either way, because Luke had stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	4. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got seriously stuck with my regularly scheduled chapter 4, and this happened.  
> So let's have a look into Crowley's past.  
> It's not pretty.  
> TW: forced oral sex, underage, child neglect
> 
> This was hard to write, tbh, and if you feel you can't read it, go ahead and jump to the end for a quick summary that will keep you in the loop for future chapters.  
> Be kind to yourself.

A knobbly-kneed ginger-haired ten-year-old sat on the steps of a rundown apartment building, doing his best to blend into the crumbling brick wall behind him. When the rain started, he didn’t move or even seem to notice. He only looked up when he felt a kick to his foot.

“Hey, kid! Wotcha doin’ out here in the rain? Tryn’a catcha cold or wot?” the older boy said, lank white hair equally soaked without a hood, hat or umbrella to protect it. Crowley finally bothered to look up, and his expression plainly revealed that he thought the other boy was just as much an idiot as he was being out in the rain. The redhead simply shrugged and resumed staring holes (well, more holes) into his trainers.

The paler boy nudged the redhead’s shoe again. “C’mon kid. Let’s get outta this shit.”

Crowley glared at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Fuck off!” He stood up and began to walk in the opposite direction of the pale boy, shoulders hunched up around his ears. 

“Hey, I’m just tryn’a help ‘sall. I got a place to get dry an’ I got some food. Take it or leave it, kid, s’no skin off my arse.” The pale boy shrugged when Crowley just stared at him, walking back to wherever he had come from.

_ What do you have to lose? It’s not like  _ they _ are gonna feed your worthless ass. _

_ He could hurt me, for starters. He’s bigger than I am—what if decides to kill me? What am I gonna do? Fight’im off? _

_ Fuck it. _

“Wait up!” Crowley shouted to be heard over the din of rain on pavement. The soles of his trainers slapped against the sidewalk as he ran to catch up. The other boy paused, but didn’t turn around as the redhead panted next to him.

“‘M Hastur, by the way,” the pale boy said as they walked.

“Crowley,” the redhead muttered. He jammed his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking.

“That a boy’s name or a girl’s name?” Hastur asked. Crowley glared daggers at the other boy, but when he failed to detect any judgement from him, the redhead’s brow smoothed, and he answered.

“Neither, I guess. ‘S my last name. ‘M a boy, though.” Hastur nodded, and they trekked on.

Eventually they reached a squat, grey building surrounded by a tall chain link fence. Hastur pointed to a dumpster by the fence, away from the street.

“There’s a hole in the fence up there, behind the dumpster. No one’ll see us from there, we can sneak in ‘round the back.” Crowley nodded in understanding and followed the pale-haired boy into his home.

Crowley's whole body shook with cold once inside the drafty open space of the concrete building. Hastur led him into a smaller room off the main floor and threw his hands out as if to say, “ta-da!” At first glance, the redhead didn’t find the room impressive, but Hastur saw his expression and began pointing out all of his treasures in a flurry of excitement.

“So this is my torch, and I have comic books, and over here is my bed. Well, it’s just a sleeping bag, but I got a pillow! And down the way there’s a bathroom—no shower, but there’s still running water, and I got a toothbrush and toothpaste.” Crowley took everything in and remembered Hastur’s promise from earlier.

“You said you had food?”

“Oh! Yeah,” the pale boy dug around in a milk crate in the corner of the room. “Here—peanut butter and crackers. It keeps the best.” He handed the jar and a sleeve of crackers to the redhead who took them greedily, and set about eating.

“Slow down, kid. Gonna make yerself sick chowin’ down like that,” Hastur warned him.

“Haven’t eaten since Thursday,” Crowley said around a mouthful of peanut butter, “Or maybe Wed—no it was Thursday. What’s today?”

“Saturday. Don’t you go to school?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“No school today—narrows down the day of the week,” Hastur shrugged. Crowley decided he liked the other boy in that very moment. He never seemed to judge him, even when the bottom half of his face was dirty with peanut butter and cracker crumbs, and he basically just admitted to never going to school. Hastur didn’t seem to mind.  _ Maybe he’ll be my friend. _

“Not if I can avoid it,” Crowley scoffed. “What’s the point in that? Just a bunch more adults telling you what to do all day. Who needs that shit?”

Hastur stared a Crowley for a beat, then threw his head back laughing. At first, the redhead scowled, upset that his potential friend was now laughing at him. But when it hit him that Hastur was laughing at the teachers, counselors, and principals at the school, Crowley joined him.  _ It feels good to laugh _ .

* * *

Over the next several weeks, Crowley learned that his new friend was fifteen, had been through seven foster homes before finally running away “for good,” and hated school with a passion rivaling his own. Crowley also helped Hastur improve his hideout with amenities such as battery-powered fairy-lights and another sleeping bag; they even named it “The Reptile House,” after stealing the sign from the zoo and hanging it over the door. Crowley hardly ever saw the inside of his school or his foster family’s flat during those weeks, spending the mild spring days on the streets pick-pocketing tourists, courtesy of Hastur’s tutelage.

When the two boys weren’t breaking the law, they were in the abandoned warehouse, reading comics and sharing stories by torchlight late into the night. As the nights got warmer, they tried to open the window of the small room, and being unsuccessful broke it out instead with a crowbar. The first rain exposed their lack of foresight when their sleeping bags were soaked and most of their comics damaged beyond repair. They had come back inside early in the afternoon to avoid getting wet and found their hideout flooded.

“Well, fuck,” Crowley kicked at the wet bedding on the floor with his foot. He only managed to get his trainer completely soaked through, and he pulled a face as he felt the damp soak through his sock as well.

“This is all your fault!” Hastur shouted. Crowley stepped back instinctively, having heard this exact outburst from several of his foster parents. “What the fuck were ya thinkin’, bustin’ out the fuckin’ window?”

The redhead held his hands up in a peace-offering gesture, “I’m sorry, Hastur. I didn’t think about the rain. We should’ve—“ he broke off when the older boy growled and took another step toward him, “I—I should’ve put a tarp over it. I forgot. Lemme. Just… lemme put everything in another room for a while and it’ll dry out.”

“And where exactly ‘m’I supposed to sleep tonight? Huh? Do y’know how long it took me to steal all those comics?” Hastur ranted.

“I said I was sorry!” Crowley cried, “What else do you want me to do about it?”

What happened after that was hazy. When Crowley tried to remember it later, it only came back in bits and pieces, and he couldn’t be certain that all of it had really happened. Crowley definitely remembered Hastur grabbing him by his arm. His wrist had ached for days afterward so he knew that part was real.

The older boy dragged him into the dank bathroom of the warehouse, the door crashing into the wall. The redhead cried out again when he was pushed to the floor, knobby knees cracking on the hard tile. Crowley looked up at his friend, but Hastur’s dark eyes glared back, devoid of even his usual devious mirth.

The unzipping of Hastur’s fly shattered the silence in the room, and Crowley looked at him with wide eyes.  _ What the fuck are you doing? _ When the older boy pulled out his prick, the redhead turned his head away, cheeks aflame. They were in the bathroom, was he going to take a piss?  _ Why the fuck is he doing it in front of me? _

Hastur stroked his hand up and down his prick a few times, then grabbed Crowley’s hair growling, “C’mere!” He pulled the redhead’s face into his groin, pressing on the back of his head as Crowley tried to get away.

“What the fuck! Lemme go!” he shouted, muffled, scrambling for purchase and finding none on the slick floor. Crowley sucked in a gasp of relief when Hastur wrenched his head back,  _ I can breathe! _ Then the older boy cracked his fist across his face, a bruise blooming on his cheek.

“Open yer mouth, brat! ‘S’least ya can do after ruinin’ my stuff!” 

When Crowley gaped in surprise, Hastur used the opening to shove his dick in his mouth and snarl, “If I feel teeth, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” Crowley panicked as Hastur pumped his hips. He tried to shake his head, pull back, but couldn’t get away.

_ I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. _

Hastur’s dick hit the back of Crowley’s throat and he gagged, still fighting to be released from the other boy’s hold on his head.

_ I’m gonna throw up. _

“If ya stop fightin’, this’ll be over faster,” Hastur warned. Crowley closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, prayed.

_ Please God, I know I haven’t been a good kid, but please, if you let me get through this I’ll do whatever You want! I will go back to school, I’ll go back home, I’ll never steal anything ever again! Just please let me get out of this. _

Crowley waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. Eventually, Hastur made a strange noise and filled his mouth with a foul-tasting liquid. It seemed he was done punishing the younger boy, and shoved him away while zipping his trousers. 

Crowley didn’t remember getting up from the bathroom floor, or stumbling back to the flat where his foster family lived. He only vaguely recalled making up some story about staying at a friend’s house when they asked him where he had been.

As he lay on the floor of his room nursing his sore wrist, he stared at the ceiling and silently raged at God.

_ Why me?! I thought Hastur was my friend?!  _

_ And I thought You were supposed to help people!  _

_ Where were You? _

_ Well, I don’t need You! Or anyone else! I’m gonna get outta this shithole! And I’ll do it all by myself! _

* * *

In the following months, Crowley never missed a day of school, much to the surprise of his teachers. His rapid improvement helped secure him a spot in the honors class for next year, which his teacher assured him would keep him from getting bored. Little did anyone know that his attendance had as much to do with his motivation to get out of his house as it did with avoiding a certain teenager who, by his own words, would rather go to prison than school.

Over the summer break, Crowley spent every daylight minute in the public library, another place Hastur would never show his face, reading anything he could get his hands on. When a librarian found him huddled in a corner surrounded by encyclopedias, she introduced him to the internet. Immediately enthralled, he set out to find information about social services.

By the time he was in 6th form, Crowley was at the top of his class for social studies. He knew everything a person could find in a library or online about British law and the foster system--information he had used to his advantage in order to get emancipated at sixteen.

Working part time as a barista barely paid his rent, but he managed well enough. And better than anything was the feeling of freedom when he came home from school or work.

_ No one yelling at me. _

_ No one ignoring me. _

_ No one wanting… anything … from me. _

_ Just me. I’m finally free. _

When he received his uni acceptance letter in the post, he celebrated alone in his nearly empty flat, toasting himself with whisky he had been saving for this occasion.

_ It’s not much, but it’s mine. And I did it on my own. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -10 y.o. Crowley meets 15 y.o. Hastur  
> -They live in an abandoned warehouse rather than with their foster families in order to escape abuse/neglect  
> -Hastur is a piece of shit  
> -Crowley goes back to his foster family for safety  
> -Starts going to school, studying at the library during the summer, eventually living on his own at 16
> 
> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	5. Succulent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: gaslighting, verbal abuse, violence (throwing things, threatening behavior), getting back with your toxic boyfriend, bad consent etiquette
> 
> Explicit on-going consent is sexy folks! And even the best of us mess up sometimes. Keep the communication going and stay safe!
> 
> As always, be kind to yourself.

Crowley sat next to Luke on the sofa in the redhead’s flat. Crowley was hunched over a textbook on his left with his laptop balanced on his right knee as he wrote a final term paper. Luke was going through a textbook of his own with a highlighter and pen, scribbling annotations in the margins.

Crowley would have much rather been out in the balmy May sunshine, but he was nearing graduation - with honors - and he would be _damned_ if anything kept him from walking across that stage.

Without prompting, Luke slammed his book shut.

“I want you to quit going to the club, Anthony,” Luke frowned.

“What club? What are you talking about?” Crowley looked up from his textbook, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The strip club, the one you’re always performing at.” Clarification on Luke’s part, certainly, but still inaccurate. Crowley laughed.

“It’s not a strip club, babe. It’s a burlesque joint. And what’s wrong with burlesque?”

“Nothing, I guess. I just don’t like other people looking at what’s mine,” Luke was working himself into a proper fit. Crowley recognized the signs - deepening frown, hunched shoulders, voice going soft and quiet. Luke used body language to deceive, appearing harmless and soft, when in reality he was an animal backed into a corner, waiting to lash out. 

Treading carefully, the redhead started in a measured voice, “It’s really sweet of you, babe. But…” Crowley paused to make sure his words came out just right. One wrong step and the minefield around them would explode.

“Don’t you like seeing me up on stage? You know I perform just for you. Don’t you think I look sexy in my costume? My heels?”

“How the fuck are you ‘performing just for me,’ when you’re dry-humping a chair wearing knickers and stilettos! In front of a drunk, randy audience! Last time I heard a guy call you a _whore_ ,” Luke spat.

Crowley sat in stunned silence. He physically couldn’t force air from his chest through his throat, his diaphragm frozen in fear. Glacially slowly, he turned his head to face his boyfriend, eyes wide. Luke sneered back.

“What do you think, Anthony? Is he right?” The brunet stood up, looming over the smaller man. “Are you just a whore?”

“No, Luke, c’mon! Y’know ‘m not a— I’m not! I was practically a virgin before you!”

“Then why are up on stage _looking like one_ every week?” Poison dripped from Luke’s lips as he hissed in Crowley’s ear. The redhead resisted the urge to cower, staring straight forward, unmoving. The mine had been triggered, and if he even breathed too quickly the whole chain was set to blow. _Is this what sleep paralysis is like?_

“ _ANSWER ME!”_

The whole mine went up.

“Fucking _fuck!_ Fine! Okay! I’ll quit the goddamn theatre! Just fucking stop!” Crowley screamed, covering his ears as Luke began hurling accusations. 

The redhead pulled his limbs inward, curling and shifting to make himself as small as possible—a smaller target for his boyfriend’s violence.

Luke grabbed whatever was closest to him, turned, and hurled it across the room. Whatever it was shattered and Crowley flinched, still too terrified to look up. 

A crunch.

A door slamming.

Then nothing.

When the fight had started, the sun had been streaming in through the windows, but as he looked up now, the street lamps were on and people were heading into pubs for the evening. How long had he cowered, waiting for Luke to leave? To be _certain_ that Luke had left, and wasn’t coming back for the foreseeable future.

_What am I doing with this arsehole?_

Crowley scrubbed his hands over his face and uncoiled his body, stretching his arms over his head. Then he got up to investigate the mess that Luke had made; it seemed he had grabbed a Ziggy and chucked him, pot and all, against the wall next to the door. And then stomped on him on his way out.

Nothing for it now; the poor thing had no leaves left, and his roots had been out of the soil for hours.

After sweeping up the soil and the remains of Ziggy and his pot, Crowley abandoned his book and laptop on the sofa for his bedroom where he burrowed into a nest on the extra soft mattress and weighted anxiety blanket and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

When Crowley woke up, it was with aching head and eyes from crying. A shower fixed the worst of it, and the pot of coffee washed away the last of his drowsiness. As he left for class just before noon, he tripped over something in the threshold of his doorway.

“What the fuck?”

On the threshold sat a new plant, with long, striped leaves, outlined in yellow, sticking upwards like waxy swords from the soil. The pot was Crowley’s favorite color for home decor—matte rose gold, with a white tag tied to it with matching twine. He picked up the pot and opened the card.

_Anthony,_

_I’m sorry about yesterday. I love you so much, and I just hate sharing you with anyone else. Can I make it up to you tonight?_

_Love,_

_Luke_

Sighing, Crowley brought the plant into the apartment and set it on the side table where Ziggy had been. He did a quick Google search to figure out what type of plant the damned thing even was—he recognized it as a succulent, his least favorite type of plant. It turned out to be a _Sansevieria trifasciata,_ or snake plant. The blog said it “thrived on neglect.”

_What is that supposed to mean?_

Crowley decided he didn’t have time to ponder it any further, and left for class. And promised himself not to check his phone.

* * *

After class, Crowley checked his phone out of habit. He typed out three texts to Anathema before realizing his mistake.

He closed out of his messages and looked at his calls. Ten missed calls from Luke last night and three voicemails. Crowley dutifully listened to the voicemails, which were increasingly drunk and rambling as it had got later into the night. The last one saw the redhead rolling his eyes as he hit “Delete.”

Luke was such a fucking moron. Crowley regularly wondered what he even saw in the man anymore, but then he never did manage to find a reason to break up either. Sometimes he wished for someone to talk to about this stuff, an objective third party who could look at his life and just make decisions for him.

Then he remembered his court-appointed therapist, who had just glanced at his file, read that he had been in foster care, scribbled a prescription for antidepressants and sent him on his way without a word. The pills first killed his teenage libido, then caused him to gain nearly a stone. Crowley’s fragile self-esteem had shattered each time he struggled to squeeze into his skinny jeans, so he had quit the meds and the therapy, since neither seemed to be doing any good.

Once he started uni, he met Ana and Lilith, and he started dancing, which fed his brain a steady stream of endorphins and dopamine while simultaneously helping him shed the weight the antidepressant had caused him to gain. Plus he was spending time with his friends—people who truly seemed to understand him, flaws and all.

And he had thrown it all away.

Via _text._

For what? _Luke’s dick isn’t_ that _great._

Crowley laughed darkly at his own joke. He resolved to give Luke an ultimatum at dinner: _let me keep dancing, or I’m done with your arse._ The redhead nodded to himself, vowing to be firm.

* * *

At dinner, Luke fell all over himself to apologise to Crowley. From the outside, he seemed a perfect gentleman: he held doors, he brought flowers, he pulled out Crowley’s chair for him as he sat, he even deferred to the redhead for the wine pairing when the waiter came to take their order.

“You have such good taste, Anthony,” Luke simpered.

“Oh, shut it. I’m still mad at you,” the redhead spat. The brunet’s eyebrows lifted for a moment in surprise, as if he’d expected his chivalrous gestures to make Crowley forget about his violent outburst. But he quickly schooled his expression back to thoughtful understanding.

“Of course, of course. I don’t expect to be forgiven right away. But I would like you to give me a chance to earn your trust back. Don’t I at least deserve that?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but relented.

“Fine, but you’re on thin fucking ice, Luke. You need to get counseling or something, because that was insane. And I’m not quitting the theatre just because you’re jealous.”

“Of course, love. I’m so sorry. I really hope you understand that I only want to protect you,” Luke laid his hand over Crowley’s on the table. The redhead interwove their fingers, stroking the brunet’s palm with his thumb.

“I don’t need protecting. I need a boyfriend who’s gonna be there for me. To cheer for me, whether I’m graduating or just finished a set.”

Luke nodded and squeezed Crowley’s hand. The redhead smiled, and that was the moment their server chose to appear with their entrees. As the two dug into their dinners, Luke seemed to revert right back to his charming and sweet self that Crowley had become accustomed to over the past couple of months. The previous night increasingly felt like a fever dream--something that happened to someone else.

* * *

Luke walked Crowley to his door, brushing his cheek gently as they kissed goodnight. The redhead could feel the taller man’s reaction against his hip, and pulled him closer to create better friction for his own erection. The brunet moaned into his mouth, hips grinding slowly together.

“Maybe we should take this inside,” Crowley whispered.

“If you’re comfortable, Anthony.” Luke kissed him again, licking along his bottom lip. Crowley answered by grabbing a handful of the brunet’s arse with one hand while digging his keys from his pocket with the other. Luke growled as they tumbled into the flat, reaching for each other as they made their way toward the bedroom.

The pair shed their clothes across the flat. Luke laid back on the bed in his trousers, while Crowley kneeled over him in his pants. The redhead nibbled at the other’s neck while trailing his hand down his chest to toy with a nipple. The brunet moaned in response, grabbing at his boyfriend.

“Fuck, I want you, Anthony.”

“Patience, love.” Crowley unzipped Luke’s trousers, slipping them down his hips as he kissed down his chest. Crowley crawled down the bed, pulling the trousers and pants off as he went, tossing them off the end of the bed. The redhead followed the trail of dark hair down to Luke’s hard cock with his mouth, teasing lightly over the shaft with his tongue, the brunet bucking his hips into his touch. He grabbed the other man’s hips, holding him down to the bed as he took Luke into his mouth.

Crowley actually loved giving head, as long as he was in control. He found that as long as he was in a position of power during the act, he could stop himself from dissociating. And Luke’s cock was perfect for it--just enough girth to stretch his jaw, but not enough to make it ache, and deliciously long.

The redhead was almost completely lost in his task, tongue swirling around the spongy tip, when he heard the _snick_ of a bottle cap opening. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Luke holding out the open bottle of lube as an offering. Crowley took it, eyebrows meeting his hairline.

_He’s never asked for this before._

Crowley coated two fingers of his right hand with the lube, then closed the cap. He went back to sucking with renewed vigor and let his right hand trail over Luke’s balls, then lower. But as soon as he began to circle the brunet’s puckered opening with the tip of a finger, Luke shouted and pulled away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Luke looked furious, yet somehow afraid.

“Er… sucking you off? What’s it look like?” Crowley felt so confused.

“Not that! With your fingers! What the fuck?”

“What do you mean? I thought that’s what you wanted?” 

“Why would I want _that?_ ” disgust dripped from Luke’s voice. Never mind the fact Crowley did _that_ every single time they had sex. Crowley hadn’t felt this degraded in a long time.

Crowley spoke very slowly, “You gave me the lube. I just thought--”

“No! I wanted you to open yourself up!” the brunet seemed to be calming down slightly. His erection, which had flagged in shock, was perking back up as well. “So I could fuck you. Like, like we always do.”

“Okay,” Crowley started, “I’m sorry. I just misunderstood. Let’s just start over, okay.” The redhead leaned down, a supplicative pose, pressing soft kisses to the inside of Luke’s thighs. The other man relaxed, lying back to receive worship from his disciple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	6. The Fight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter include: low self-esteem, gaslighting/after-effects thereof, manipulative behavior, controlling behavior, VIOLENCE  
> As always, be kind to yourself.

Crowley clapped politely from his spot in the audience, watching Luke walk across the stage in his graduation robes. He was happy for his boyfriend. But why did the university have to schedule their college graduations at the same time? As soon as Luke descended the stairs on the other side of the stage, Crowley folded his arms and resumed scowling. He couldn’t help but think of his own graduation robes hanging in his closet, destined now never to be worn, gathering dust.

And really, what was the whole point? They had another summer together and then what? Luke planned to move to London for medical school while Crowley planned to stay in Oxford. Did Luke expect them to date long distance? While doing graduate programs?

_ Is Luke worth that much work? _

Lately, the redhead felt like he only had questions, never answers, and that frustrated him. He wanted to talk to someone about the thoughts swirling around in his head, but he hadn’t texted Ana or Lil in a while. He hadn’t actually followed through and gone back to dancing either. Would they even want to hear from him? 

Luke would probably just tell him he was worrying for nothing. Tell him everything was going to be fine as long as they stuck together. He could hear the brunet’s voice in his head.

_ Don’t be so anxious all the time, Anthony. I will take care of you. Don’t I always take care of you? _

* * *

“Did you get any good pics, babe?” Luke asked as they walked in the door of the brunet’s flat. He had shed the graduation robe and cap shortly after the ceremony, and Crowley had carried them around from the auditorium to the restaurant to the bar to Luke’s car which was parked back at the auditorium. Luke finally took them out of Crowley’s outstretched hands and took them into his bedroom.

“Um, I was a little further from the stage, so I couldn’t get any great ones, but I got a few. And a video of you walking,” Crowley raised his voice to be heard from the entrance where he bent over to remove his shoes.

Luke popped his head around the door frame of the bedroom, “Text those to me?” He blew the redhead a kiss and disappeared again.

“Done!” Crowley shouted again. He flopped down on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, physically and emotionally exhausted. Flipping through Instagram, he liked all his friends’ graduation pictures, cursing himself again for not attending his own ceremony.

_ Where does Luke get off forcing me to miss my own graduation? _

_ But does it  _ really _ matter? I mean, I still have my diploma. I am still going to law school. In the end, it won’t make any difference. _

_ But he should have  _ wanted _ to be there for me. We could have had a joint party with all our friends afterward or something. _

Thinking of his friends reminded Crowley that he hadn’t seen Anathema in a few weeks. Despite telling Luke that he would be returning to the theatre, the redhead had used the excuse of finals and graduation to avoid dancing. If it helped keep the peace with his boyfriend’s explosive temper, then all the better.

Crowley hesitated. Luke didn’t have any plans that he knew of, but the redhead knew he would prefer if they stayed in together. The brunet especially hated when Crowley sprung plans on him last minute. Crowley was still debating what to text when Luke emerged from the bedroom.

“Hey babe,” he said, still toweling his hair dry from his shower. He’d just thrown on sweatpants, clearly planning to stay in for the rest of the night. “Who’re you texting?”

“Just Anathema,” Crowley replied, closing his text messages and flipping back to Instagram. He would show Luke the post he made of his graduation pictures, the hashtags #loml and #mcm would be sure to distract him from his text messages.

Luke hmmed and sat down next to Crowley on the sofa. They relaxed silently together for a few minutes, then the redhead was startled out of his quiet contemplation by Luke shoving his feet to the floor.

“What the fuck?”

“Get your fucking feet off the coffee table! It’s disgusting!” Luke complained. “I know you were raised on the streets, but Jesus fuck, Anthony! Have some manners.” 

Crowley struggled to breathe.  He had shared much of his past with Luke, more than he had with anyone else, and to have it thrown in his face stung. Looking at the brunet with watery eyes, he started to speak.

“I’m sorry Luke. I just - it’s just that I do it at home, and I forgot. I can clean it if you want,” the redhead offered.

Luke scoffed. “This isn’t  _ your  _ home, idiot. If I wanted something in here messing up all my shit, I’d get a fucking dog. Are you a  _ dog _ , Anthony?”

“No, I’m not a do-” Crowley started, cut off when a hand cracked across his face. Stunned silence followed.

The tears in Crowley’s eyes dried nearly immediately, despite the pain blooming across his cheek. He may not think much of himself, but he wasn’t about to let some  _ arsehole _ knock him about. The redhead started for the door, picking up his jacket and sliding on his shoes. 

Before reaching for the knob, he turned to look at the brunet.

“Do you have anything - a single  _ fucking _ thing - to say for yourself?”

Luke remained silent, and Crowley left.

* * *

Crowley’s Uber pulled up outside Anathema’s house, and the redhead tumbled out of the car, feeling numb. He walked up the front path without a passing glance for the front garden he usually enjoyed. Anathema took great pride in her roses, both the front and back gardens rainbows of blooms cut by winding paths and conveniently placed outdoor seating.

The door opened before he could knock, and Crowley found himself enveloped in three sets of arms. The women practically carried their friend into the house, and once they had him settled on the sofa, tea in hand, the inquisition began.

“What did that bastard do?” Anathema growled.

“What happened, Cuervito?” Lilith started at the same time.

“Ngk,” Crowley choked, unable to speak with all eyes on him.

“Crowley. I am going to tell you what I’m seeing okay,” Sammy had a lot more tact than Anathema or her girlfriend, combined. “I see that you are shaken up, very upset, and you seem to have a big bruise on your cheek. Can you tell me how you got the bruise?”

Crowley took a deep breath and tried a second time to speak. “Luke and I had a fight. It was my fault, I was being stupid and he - he -” Crowley broke off in a sob, but reined himself in. “He hit me. So I left,” the redhead finished as calmly as he could.

“Oh, mijo,” Lilith cooed, and made to encircle him in her arms, then paused. “Can I hug you?” He nodded hesitantly and she wrapped him in a gentle embrace, rocking back and forth as he wept.

Anathema fumed in the background, and when she thought she couldn’t contain herself any longer, Sammy steered her into the kitchen.

“The last thing Crowley needs is someone being angry. Even though I know and you know it’s not directed at him, he’s not going to know that. Or - well - his brain isn’t going to know that.” Sammy started making tea, completely at home in the brunette’s kitchen, as she talked Anathema down. “It’s an absolute fucking outrage, but right now, it’s not about us. This is about him, and we have to keep our feelings to ourselves for now, okay?”

Anathema frowned, but relented, nodding as Sammy talked. She wanted to hunt down Luke and remove certain parts of his male anatomy before feeding him his own heart. But Sammy, as usual, was right - none of that would actually help Crowley. Sammy handed her a bag of frozen peas, which Anathema carried dutifully back to the living room.

Lilith and Crowley had turned on an episode of the  _ Golden Girls.  _ They didn’t seem to be paying much attention, especially the redhead, who had curled up with his head on the woman’s lap. Lilith stroked his hair. He looked half asleep.

“Who wants tea?” Sammy asked brightly, setting a tray down on the coffee table. “I even dug out the good biscuits—the ones Ana has to hide from Newt.” The witch blushed, but laughed when Crowley smiled for the first time in what seemed like years.

“It’s not like that, okay? It’s just that if he opens a pack, he doesn’t pay attention, and he eats the whole thing in one go, and I don’t get any! This way, we both get some and it’s fair!” Anathema gesticulated wildly as she spoke, waving around the bag of peas she had forgotten she was holding. When she remembered she handed it to the redhead.

“Thanks,” he whispered, pressing the bag gently to his face with a hiss. “All of you. I really didn’t know where to go. And thanks for not kicking me out the moment I turned up. I know I’ve been a shit friend lately.”

“¡Mijo, no!”

“Not at all!”

“You absolute dope!”

Crowley just blushed, ducking his head so he could hide behind his hair.

The four chatted about nothing and everything over tea, the women being sure to keep the conversation light. Lilith and Sammy eventually announced that they had better leave, in order to make the drive home to London before nightfall.

“Um, speaking of—Ana, can you and Newt give me a ride back to my flat before it gets dark? I want to be home with the door locked before the sun sets.” When no one said anything, the redhead looked up. “I mean, I don’t think he’ll come by, but just in case.”

Anathema finally found her voice. “Crowley. You can’t go home tonight. It’s not safe,” she said in a measured tone. She tried to read his aura, since he had hidden his face with his hair again. It was a teal swirled with yellow—anxious and guilty; she hadn’t managed to avoid triggering him after all.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, Ana,” Crowley murmured. “I can’t go back to L—“ he stopped himself.

Anathema kicked herself. “Crowley, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant, you’re staying here, with me and Newt.”

Crowley brightened immediately. “Really? Are you sure? Oh, thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” he cried as he wrapped his arms around her waist. They spun around the room, her voluminous skirts twirling outward. They fell back on the sofa, laughing.

“Speaking of Nerd Boy—where is he?”

“Well, don’t be mad,” Anathema started. Crowley just leveled his gaze at her, because nine times out of ten, when she started with “don’t be mad” he would be, but they would also end up laughing about it later. “I gave Newt my copy of your flat key, and I sent him over to your place. He’s grabbing stuff for you to stay for a while, and…” she mumbled the last part, praying to Goddess he wouldn’t ask more questions.

“What was that last bit?”

“Newt’sgoingtorekeyyourlocksaswell!” she nearly shouted.

“Witch!” the redhead accused, pointing rudely at her. As was his custom when he thought she had done something over-the-top, especially for him. Crowley struggled with accepting any sort of help. He treated helpers as if they were scheming against him.

“That I may be,” Anathema said, nose in the air, wearing the title of  _ witch _ as a crown. “But it’s still happening, and Newt will bring you your things and new keys in,” she checked her phone, “about 30 minutes. He says he’s done and locking up.”

Crowley crossed his arms, attempting to pout, but hissed when contorting his face agitated the bruising. Anathema said nothing and handed him the peas.

* * *

Crowley lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. He tried to remember the last night he had spent alone, and he couldn’t come up with anything other than before his first time with Luke. The brunet had stayed that night, and they had been inseparable since.

Where had he gone wrong? He thought he had been the perfect boyfriend.

He never corrected Luke when he called him Anthony.

He never asked to top (not after that one disastrous incident).

He had all but given up carbs, because Luke was watching his own weight. Crowley had lost some as well since they started dating.

He did whatever Luke asked of him, but it wasn’t enough.

_ I’m never going to be enough. _

The realization hit him hard, knocking the air out of his lungs as he struggled for breath. He wanted to scream, to howl, to rip his chest open—to take a look at his stupid, bleeding heart. Shout at the idiotic organ,  _ “Why do you do this? Love BETTER!” _

But he didn’t want to wake Anathema and Newt, so instead he rolled over on the guest bed they had made up for him, mentally thanking Nerd Boy for grabbing his weighted blanket, and tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a native Spanish speaker. I live in the Southwestern US, in a border city; I speak some Spanish, of the northern Mexican dialects, and I did my best. My headcanon (can you say that about your own, almost-OC?) is that Lilith is Mexican, or possibly from Central America?  
> If people have corrections or suggestions, please let me know in the comments.


	7. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: A PTSD nightmare, homophobic language (in the context of a nightmare), frightening imagery
> 
> Other tags: lesbian sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, this is super soft, all the feels

Lilith lay in bed that night, legs curled up tight, hugged to her chest, flipping through Pinterest on her phone. She jumped nearly a foot in the air when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry! Sorry, love. I had a feeling you might be anxious tonight. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Sammy said in a soft voice.

Lilith nodded, not feeling particularly vocal. Her girlfriend just smiled, telegraphing her intention to climb into the bed next to her. Once the blonde had situated herself into the bed, she spoke again.

“Can I hold you, my flower?” When Lilith nodded, Sammy wrapped one arm around the other’s waist from behind. “Are you thinking about ‘He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?’” 

A nod.

“Can I do anything to help?”

A shake of the head.

“Maybe some music? To distract you?”

A shrug.

“Here, flower, I’ll put on  _ The Nutcracker  _ for us. How’s that?”

Nod.  _ Thank god Sammy knows to ask yes/no questions when I go nonverbal. _

Lilith could feel her heartbeat returning to a normal rate. She concentrated on the blonde’s voice, closing her eyes.

“I love you so much, Lili-flower. And I’m so proud of you. You’re such a good friend,” Sammy whispered. “Can I stroke your hair, love?”

Lilith nodded again. Her eyelids fluttered in pleasure as the other’s short fingers scratched lightly against her scalp, exactly the way she liked. Sammy combed the long curls and started working them into a simple braid. She tied off the end with a scrunchie, and kissed Lilith’s crown.

“Are you ready to go to sleep?”

Nod. Yawn. Wiggle.

Sammy turned off the music and the lights, then wrapped Lilith in her arms again. “I love more than anything, my flower. I’ll be here when you wake up,” she whispered.

* * *

_ She was standing in the living room of her and Sammy’s shared flat. But something was off - none of the cheer that Sammy bled onto everything she touched. None of the love. The stench of fear hung heavy in the air, and the room was dark, despite her innate knowledge that it was afternoon and sunny outside. _

_ A rattling from the kitchen had Lilith whipping her head to the right. Frozen, she waited for Sammy to pop round the corner and ask what she wanted for tea. But the blonde didn’t appear. The rattling continued. Lilith crept forward until she could just peak into the next room, scrambling immediately backward upon eying the monstrosity draped over the island. _

_ A gigantic snake—no, it had the upper body of a man! The beast charged at her, its long, tangled hair billowing behind it, and its claws outstretched, grasping as it made horrifying shrieks. _

You’re broken,  _ it cried in some demonic language.  _ And I’m gonna make the outside match the inside!

_ She screamed, running until her lungs burned, too terrified to chance a glance behind at her pursuer. _

I can’t run anymore! I can’t breathe, my lungs are going to explode! But if I stop, that  _ thing _ will get me!

_ She looked at the ground, putting one foot in front of the other as the hedges passed her by at an alarming speed. Lilith was in a hedge maze now, and she had to get to the center as fast as she could, because in the center was some _ thing _ that would kill the monster. _

_ As she flew around a corner, a flash of light caught her eye, and she stopped. A mirror, and the image in the mirror was her own face, except that it spoke, and she listened. _

Stupid dyke bitch,  _ the mirror sneered at her.  _ You want to be a man so fucking badly, why don’t you make yourself one?

_ She looked on in horror, frozen, as her mirror image held up large scissors, glinting in the sunlight. _

_ “No, nonononono! Please!” she begged, but to no avail. She even struck out at the mirror, breaking it, but nothing changed. _

_ She could see herself now, from outside - she was on her knees, weeping pools of tears onto shards of glass. Her head was naked, her long curls swept away by a sudden wind. _

* * *

“—ith. Lily. Lili-flower, wake up.” The words drifted through a fog, but she caught the tail end and held on. Sammy. Home. Bed.

_ Safe. I’m safe. _

“That’s it, my flower,” Sammy stroked a finger so gently across her cheek.

“Tickles,” Lilith said, her first words since they had left Anathema’s place.

“You’re awake. There you are,” the blonde whispered upon seeing Lilith’s inky eyes gazing back at her. “Do you remember your dream at all? It seemed bad,” Sammy said, continuing to stroke her face.

Lilith shook her head slightly, trying to maintain the connection with the blonde’s hand. “Don’t remember, but was scary.” She grabbed for Sammy’s waist, pulling the petite woman closer and burying her face in her ample chest.

Soft. Warm.  _ Safe. _

Sammy giggled, and Lilith looked up from her nuzzling, eyebrow raised in question. “You have a tendency to burrow, flower,” the blonde stated, “It’s adorable.” The brunette responded by nestling further into the blonde’s embrace. Sammy bussed a kiss to her crown.

They lay for a long time, Sammy silently rubbing the other’s back as she attempted to join their bodies through physical proximity. The brunette had entangled their legs and had a near-crushing grip on the smaller woman’s waist. But then Lilith began making keening noises in the back of her throat.

“What is it, Lili-flower?”

“Need to be closer,” she whined, voice muffled against her lover’s bosom.

“Yeah? I think we’re about as close as two people can be, without being conjoined twins, my love.” Lilith keened again, knowing that Sammy was intentionally missing her meaning. “Unless you wanted something other than cuddles…” she let the offer hang, forcing Lilith to put words to her desires.

“Nnng, want you, Sammy.”

“You have me, flower. I’m right here.” Lilith glowered at her girlfriend. The dark-haired woman often struggled with words, preferring to show her emotions by wrapping her willowy limbs around her object of affection, squeezing the love into them. But for what she wanted now, she was going to have to use actual words, and she felt her throat closing on them, choking her.

_ It’s Sammy. You’re safe. _

“Want you,” she started again. She took a deep breath, signaling that she wasn’t done, just steeling herself for the next bit. “Want you toeatmeoutandmaybefingermeplease?” She hid her face in Sammy’s chest again.

“Oh, my flower. I’m so proud of you,” Sammy paused to kiss her, deeply and passionately. “I would love nothing more than to give you pleasure,” she finished, gently extricating herself from Lilith’s hold so she can start kissing her way down the brunette’s neck.

“You talk like such a dork,” Lilith chided, but rolled onto her back, kicking at the blankets to make more room for the blonde between her legs.

“You love it.” Sammy planted a series of kisses along Lilith’s long neck, her hands working under her oversized tee, over the bumpy ridges of her ribs. Lilith wiggled, giggled at the tickling touch, then froze when the blonde’s fingers reached her binder.

“Oh, flower. Did you forget to take it off before bed?”

Sammy supported her in everything, even this, but she couldn’t help but feel ashamed. It bubbled up from deep in her gut, dark and hot, wrapping around her heart and squeezing. She could feel the flames of it on her face, cheeks scarlet and eyes shining with tears.

“Lili-flower, it’s okay. We should take it off, though. It’s not good for you to sleep in it, yeah?” Sammy’s voice was so gentle.  _ Safe. _

She nodded, sitting up to remove first her tee then the binder. Lilith crossed her arms over her naked chest, trying to hide, to disappear, when Sammy handed her the tee. She put it on, tugging at the hem and biting her lip self-consciously.

“Feel better?” the blonde asked. “How’s your breathing?” 

_ How does she always know what to ask? _

“Better. Thanks,” Lilith felt her heart rate slowing, her breathing normalizing. She leaned forward for a kiss. Sammy’s lips were soft and warm against her own. Her breathing picked up again as she began picturing those lips elsewhere.

“Can we start again?”

Sammy nodded, grabbing her hips and pulling her down the mattress as she giggled and squirmed in the blonde’s grasp. The smaller woman settled herself between Lilith’s legs, laving her flat stomach with kisses and rubbing distracting circles on her hip bones with her thumbs. She slipped a thumb under the band of the brunette’s panties, still gently stroking, and moved her kisses south.

Lilith tangled her hands in the sheets, gaze transfixed on the blonde. She was driving her crazy already and had barely touched her.  _ I’m still in my chones for Chrissake! _

Sammy’s hot breath puffed over her mons, sending shivers up her spine. She keened, flexing her hips to try to get closer to the blonde’s mouth, but Sammy held her hips fast to the bed.

“Ah! Patience, flower,” she chided gently, and her breath ghosted over Lilith’s heated skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But she didn’t have to wait long, the blonde shimmying just so to make more room between Lilith’s thighs, then a soft kiss placed directly over her clit. 

The kiss was followed immediately by a long swipe of the tongue, hot and damp, even through the cotton.  _ Oh fuck, she’s going to ruin me _ . 

Lilith moaned at the feeling of Sammy’s tongue against her flesh. Well, sort of. Alternating sucking kisses with long, wet strokes of her tongue, Sammy soon had Lilith soaking, inside and out. The moonlight streaming through their bedroom window provided just enough light to see that the brunette’s panties, previously white, were now translucent with her efforts.

“Get these offa me,” she gasped, pushing at the blonde’s hands where they held her hips.

Sammy lifted her head, smirking, and pulled at the sides of Lilith’s soiled panties. When they were off, she flung them in the direction of the hamper without breaking eye contact. Then she dove right back in.

“Oh fuck!” Lilith cried out, glad their bedroom didn’t share a wall with the neighbors. The sensation of Sammy’s tongue on her bare skin was a hundred-fold stronger than through fabric. So wet, and hot, and…

_ Oh god. _

“You taste divine, my flower,” Sammy hummed against her sex. The words vibrated through her clit,  pushing her closer and closer to an edge she longed to fall over. “My favorite dessert. I could live between your thighs.”

“Joder, yes! Sammy! Right there!” she panted as the blonde suckled at her clit. Teasing flicks of her tongue to the sensitive bud were fanning the flames of her need, building in the base of her spine.

Lilith’s hips moved now of their own accord, chasing release at the tip of Sammy’s tongue. The blonde sucked a bit harder, sending her tumbling over the edge with trembling legs and a sigh. Sammy worked her through her orgasm, then the oversensitive time after, gentle-firm strokes to her thighs grounding her as she came down.

“How’re you feeling, flower?” The blonde grinned, her lips shiny with her lover’s slick, and extremely pleased about it. 

“Mmm… feel so good,  [ cariño ](https://www.fluentin3months.com/terms-of-endearment/) ,” Lilith blushed, tucking her head into the pillow. “Still want more though.”

Sammy kissed her thigh, lips wet and open. “More? You want fingers now? Or should I tongue-fuck you?”

Lilith whined. Sammy talking dirty, truly dirty, was in her top three kinks. Which basically forced her hand, as far as further activities went.

“Fingers, please. Want to feel you inside me,” she begged.  _ And wanna hear you describe it, you naughty thing. _

“Anything you want, my love,” Sammy said, still rubbing her thighs, squeezing handfuls of tawny flesh in her creamy fingers. “Your skin is so soft,” the blonde paused to nip lightly at her hip, “so tempting.”

Finally, Sammy swept a thumb over her outer labia, stroking up, then down the inside crease where her thigh met her sex. The blonde mirrored the motion with the other thumb, both hands splayed against Lilith’s thighs, spreading her open.

“You look so fucking beautiful. You’re so wet, I can see it shining in the light. Can you feel it, flower? How gloriously wet you are for me?”

_ Oh yeah. This is  _ exactly  _ what she’d been hoping for. _

“Fuuuuuuck, yes. I can feel it, cariño, please. Fill me up,” she begged. “I need to feel you.”

“I can tell. Your pussy is twitching, my love. So hungry.”  _ Oh sonofabitch. I’m gonna come so fuckin’ hard. _

Sammy set her index finger against Lilith’s lips, and the brunette sucked the digit into her mouth, coating it liberally with saliva. Which, honestly, was unnecessary with how drenched she was, but she appreciated how much care her girlfriend took with her every time they had sex.

Sammy used her other hand to spread her labia apart, skimming her wet index finger slowly from her clit to her quivering entrance. With steady strokes, the blonde worked her digit in, until she could feel the supple skin of Lilith’s pussy, the exquisite heat, encasing her finger. Lilith whined, moving her hips to encourage friction.

“Easy, love. We’re just getting started,” Sammy smirked. “I’ve not even started fucking you yet.”

“That’s the bloody problem, isn’t i—“ her bitching cut off as the blonde began fucking her deliberately, with measured strokes. Her thumb reached up to rub lazily over her clit, the nub red and swollen from her earlier ministrations.

“More, cariño, please!” Lilith grabbed desperately at Sammy’s shoulder. The blonde complied instantly, using Lilith’s wetness for lubrication, inserted her middle finger as well, pumping them in time with the brunette’s hips. She curled her fingers just so to pet her g-spot, which had Lilith moaning wantonly.

“You look beautiful like this, my flower. Shameless, spread open. Pleading for me.” Sammy pressed the tips of her fingers against the nerve-dense spot inside of Lilith, making a pattern of gentle circles. She dipped her head to deliver alternating broad strokes and teasing flicks of her tongue to the brunette’s pearl. “Beg for me.” Sammy demanded.

Having her clit simultaneously stimulated from the inside and outside, this was a simple command for Lilith to follow. “Oh, joder. Sammy, please, please, fuck me! Please, I’m so close. Please fuck me until I come!”

“My flower, yes! Come for me! I want to feel your sweet pussy clenching around my fingers.” Sammy returned to sucking and licking at Lilith’s clit, continuing to rub circles with her fingers inside. Lilith’s cries climbed higher and higher in pitch as she neared her peak.

“Sammy! Sammy! I’m gonna come!” The brunette couldn’t control her hips any longer, and Sammy threw her left arm over her hips to hold her down. 

The trembling release built to a crescendo, bursting into bloom, first where she and Sammy were joined, then flowing outward in waves. Her orgasm crested over her body, her limbs shaking and her pussy tensing around her girlfriend’s fingers. As she came down, Sammy worked her through the aftershocks, long strokes of her tongue directly over her hole, lapping at her juices while avoiding her oversensitive clit.

“Another?” Sammy asked. Lilith knew from experience that she would keep her like this all night, screaming in ecstasy. The blonde never seemed to tire of giving her pleasure. But she was  _ done _ .

“No, I surrender! C’mere, I want cuddles.” She tended to get clingy after an orgasm or two. Luckily, Sammy was happy to oblige, crawling up her body to be entangled in long arms and legs.

“You’re like a sex-octopus—you just wrap yourself around me,” Sammy chuckled, her voice muffled into Lilith’s neck. 

“Missing a few limbs, I think. And I can’t help it—you’re so soft and cuddly.” Lilith gave Sammy a squeeze. “Are you good?” The brunette shifted her leg in between the blonde’s and lifted her thigh, grinding against Sammy’s clothed sex to demonstrate her meaning. 

The blonde kissed her cheek, then shook her head. “I’m good, my love,” she paused to yawn. “I’m ready to go back to sleep, apparently,” she finished with a laugh.

“As long as you’re sure,” Lilith whispered, feeling sleepy herself.

“Of course, flower. We need a good night’s sleep if I’m going to treat you to brunch in the morning.”

“You spoil me,” Lilith teased, burying her face in Sammy’s neck as she felt her cheeks flame again.

“I do try. You deserve it. Now try and get some sleep.” Sammy situated them so Lilith was tucked into her chest, one long tan leg thrown over her wide hips. The brunette’s favorite sleeping position.

_ Warm. Safe. I love you, cariño. _

“I love you too, flower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, if anyone has any corrections or suggestions for Lilith's Spanish, please let me know in the comments.  
> As always, be kind to yourself.
> 
> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	8. The First Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! This arc was especially difficult to write, because it requires something I am just really struggling with - abusive people being nice. But that's the thing! They aren't always gigantic assholes, otherwise no one would ever be around them - they'd be too easy to spot and avoid.  
> Also, I keep going back and forth on trying to Brit-pick this, and I tried, somewhat, but I understand that I didn't do a great job of it. It is what it is, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> TW for this chapter:  
> Getting back with your abusive ex  
> Rough sex  
> Abusive people and their weird, "nice," manipulative behavior
> 
> As always, be kind to yourself.

Crowley had been staying with Anathema and Newt for a week, and each day he felt increasingly lonely and useless. He had phoned his boss at the coffee shop, let her know he needed a few extra days off (he had already taken a couple to celebrate his graduation), and she wished him well for his well-deserved holiday. But with Anathema and Nerd Boy headed off to work every day, Crowley found himself floundering for something to do.

While Anathema went into a cramped office to write for _New Aquarian_ Publishing and Nerd Boy spent his days running around the village to his handyman jobs, Crowley had cleaned the cottage top to bottom, tended to the gardens. But even at that, without school, work, or Luke, he quickly found himself bored out of his mind.

He tried watching Netflix, but nothing held his interest. Same with all the books on Anathema’s shelves. He got a few pages in, and then lost himself in his thoughts; he’d be flipping pages, not seeing the words. His mind kept circling back to the same thing.

_I should text Luke._

With each increasingly desperate message he received from the brunet, the pressure to cave and answer built. Spending each night alone weighed on him, and insomnia worked against his higher brain function as well.

By the end of the week, Crowley sat with his finger hovering over the “send” button, a long text ready to go to Luke, who he wasn’t ready to think of as his ex just yet. Should he send a message—resume contact—and maybe repair the only romantic relationship he’d managed to have in two years? Or block the brunet once and for all—forget about him and move on?

_What am I supposed to do without him? We were supposed to be together._

Crowley flopped dramatically onto the sofa with the flair of an Oscar Wilde character. Letting out a sigh, he began a mental pro and cons list.

_Pros of getting back with Luke: don’t have to go through an actual breakup, I_ know _he’s sorry, I hate being alone, I’m useless without him—e.g. this whole week, the sex is pretty good, he doesn’t hog the blankets_

_Cons: his temper, he can be bossy, Anathema and Lilith will hate him now, he’s got a thing about cleanliness, okay—he’s got a thing about_ everything _, but who doesn’t nowadays?, he… he loses it sometimes_

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to say it, even mentally. The bruise on his cheek had faded in the past couple of days, and the memory of Luke—doing that—no longer felt real without a physical reminder to tie to the act. And he’d apologized so many times, Crowley began to feel like a monster for letting the man hang. He owed him an answer, at least. Some signal, either way.

That’s what he told himself when he hit send. He didn’t tell Anathema anything. 

* * *

* * *

Crowley moved back into his flat under the watchful eye of Anathema and Newt, and he was sure to make a big show of setting Luke’s gifts aside for the rubbish. He couldn’t admit in front of her that he found the giant stuffed snake, while odd, entirely adorable, and he was absolutely not parting with it.

Other gifts included, but were not limited to: a variety of succulent plants in a variety of pretty pots, a basket of his favorite pastries, the movie _Burlesque_ , and a bland box with very distinct wrapping that he hoped none of his neighbors had noticed. At least Luke had had the sense to tuck that particular gift in the back of the pile at his door. _Fucking hell._

Once he was alone in his flat, he spent a considerable amount of time arranging his plants back into their spots, along with their new friends. Crowley had thanked Newt profusely for bringing over all of his plants to the cottage for the week he’d stayed with them. The tiny car’s backseat filled with his jungle of houseplants had Crowley smiling the whole ride back to his flat; knowing that his babies (and he would _never_ admit that he thought of them that way) were safe and taken care of had been reassuring the week he had been away.

Night fell, and the redhead found himself in bed texting with Luke. He hadn’t given the brunet permission to come over yet, but he wanted him to know he was home safe. And thank him for the gifts. Crowley snapped a photo of himself in bed cuddling with his snake plushie - who he had named Mr. Crawly - and sent it to Luke.

Immediately, his phone rang.

“You’re so cute,” the brunet said in lieu of a greeting. Crowley had missed his voice.

“I love my gifts,” he answered. Crowley had never taken compliments well, and he could feel his ears burning at the word _cute._

“Did you get everything?” Luke asked. The redhead could hear the wink in his voice.

“Yeah. I did. I can’t believe you left that out where my neighbors could see it!” His whole face burning crimson now. “Thank someone Ana and Nerd Boy didn't see it. They would have made me throw it out. They wanted me to throw all the stuff you got me out, Crowley finished quietly.

“Did you? I mean, I would understand if you did. I totally deserve it,” Luke reassured him.

“Of course not, Luke. Why do you think I sent you the picture? I kept everything.”

Luke heaved a sigh of relief. “I love you so much, Anthony. I can’t wait to see you again--to hold you,” he paused. “To make love to you.”

Crowley practically keened. “I love you, too. I’m just not ready. I will be, I just need more time, baby.”

“I know, and I understand. But--” Luke paused. Crowley pictured him chewing his lip, thinking. “Can we try something?”

“What?”

“Phone sex,” Luke gulped. When the redhead didn’t respond at first, he amended, “Only if you’re up for it!”

“Um… sure. I’ve never done it before though. What if I suck at it?”

“I promise you won’t. Just hearing your voice has me hard already.”

“Fuuuuuck, Luke,” Crowley moaned. “What are you wearing?” he panted as he unzipped his trousers, pushing them down around his knees.

“A little cliché, don’t you think?”

“‘M a visual learner. Paint me a word picture, yeah?”

Luke chuckled, and Crowley smiled that he had made the brunet laugh. He stroked his fingers over his cock through his pants, closing his eyes against the pleasure shivering its way up his spine.

“I’m in bed. Just have sweats on. Those grey ones you like so much,” Luke finally told him.

“I’m touching myself just thinking about you,” Crowley blurted.

“Such a good boy for me, Anthony. Tell me how you’re touching yourself.”

“In my boxer-briefs. Laying in bed, like you. Wish you were here,” he gasped, hand dipping into his waistband to tease the head of his cock. “I’ve been running my fingers over my cock, just teasing.”

Luke groaned, “Yes. More. Take your pants off and stroke yourself, but lightly. I don’t want you to come too fast.”

He pushed his waistband down to mid-thigh, then kicked his legs until the offending garment had been flung across the room. He circled one hand loosely around his cock, moving slowly as instructed. He swiped his thumb through a pearl of precum gathered at the tip, the fluid smoothing his movements.

“Feels good Luke. Feels so fucking good. Are you touching yourself too?”

“Yeah I am, baby.” A sudden click came over the line. Crowley’s brow furrowed in confusion. Did Luke just hang up on him? Did phones click when they hung up anymore?

“Oh fuck yes, just like that. I wish it was your mouth on me, Anthony.” Crowley got it now. The click had been the cap on the lube. _Luke does like his handjobs really wet_. “You were made to suck cock with those gorgeous lips of yours.”

“Ngk.” More fluid leaked from Crowley’s slit, spreading over his prick as he tried, and failed, not to fuck his fist. “Luke--please,” he gasped. “Please, can I…” Crowley got up from the bed, gathering supplies and rearranging himself on his knees in front of his mirror.

“Yeah, get yourself off baby boy. I want you to come with me. Are you close?”

“Mmmmm.”

“I’m close too--I wanna see you, please baby. Send me a pic, please.”

“Mhmmm.”

Crowley arranged himself and snapped a photo, sending it off to the brunet. He could tell it had been received when Luke cried out his name.

“Anthony, fuck! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Mmhm,” Crowley denied, words muffled around the new dildo Luke had gifted him. He’d attached it to his mirror so he could continue to work his prick with one hand and the phone with the other as he sucked the phallus, playing into Luke’s blowjob fantasy. The twin sensations of a cock (even a silicone one) on his tongue and his hand flying over his prick had the redhead rushing right up to the edge.

“I’m gonna come. Yes! I’m coming! Fuck!” Luke exclaimed.

Crowley made noises of assent, splattering his come all over the mirror and his hand. He drew away from the dildo, gasping in lungfuls of air. He could hear Luke’s voice on the other end, but he couldn’t parse what the brunet was saying.

“Wha?”

“That was hot, babe. I’m gonna go to sleep. Night,” Luke finished, punctuated with a yawn. When no sound followed, Crowley sat back on his heels to stare at his phone screen. 

Nothing.

He had hung up.

“So that was a thing.”

* * *

That became their routine. Texting throughout the day, and talking on the phone at night into the wee hours. After the first call, Luke started wishing Crowley sweet dreams each night, and it worked! After two weeks of increasingly erotic dreams, the redhead craved the brunet’s touch, but was stubbornly unwilling to see him in person without some sort of proof that he was getting professional help. Luckily, proof came fairly quickly when Luke texted him a receipt for a counselor’s visit, along with an apology for it taking so long—they had a waiting time for him to get in to see anyone, and he had languished the fortnight in between, wanting to see Crowley, but knowing that he needed to talk to someone first.

That night, Luke told Crowley a bit about his first therapy session. Apparently he and his counselor had clicked, for which the redhead was thankful. He knew from experience that a shitty or disinterested counselor would wreak havoc on any kind of progress that might be made.

“I just--I have a lot of anger, and I’m not sure where it’s from, and I don’t know how to deal with it. But that’s what I’m going to be working on,” Luke said.

“I hate how it came to pass, but I’m really proud of you for getting the help you need. I know how hard that is.”

“It is hard, but I want to do it. I want to be with you. I mean--” Luke paused, and Crowley let him gather his thoughts. “I want to earn the right--the privilege to be with you again. But I also want to be better. A better person. Just in general? Does that make any sense?”

Crowley laughed gently. “Yes. Perfect sense. I want you to feel better, on the inside. No one wants to have all that anger hanging around, babe. It’s bad for the soul.”

“You’re good for my soul, Anthony.”

“That was the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard in my life. You take that line and you go to the store and you go get me some Lact-aid for that line, Luke Morgenstern,” Crowley chided while trying not to laugh.

“You love it, dork,” Luke retorted.

“I love you, dweeb.”

“I love you, too, Anthony.”

“G’ni--”

“Wait! Can I ask you a favor?” Luke interrupted.

“You can ask,” Crowley said coyly.

“Arse. Can I come by the shop and see you tomorrow? Just for a minute? I’ll get something to go--I just want to say hi.”

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Crowley could hear the smile in his voice.

Luke let out an audible breath of relief. “Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night. Sleep well.”

“G’night, Luke. Sleep well. Sweet dreams.”

Luke’s visit to the cafe was pleasant, but ultimately uneventful as Crowley had been stuck in the back doing month’s end inventory, and was only able to pop his head out, say hi, and quickly get back to work. But the barista on shift with Crowley remembered Luke and gave him the “boyfriend discount,” and the redhead smiled to himself for the rest of his shift, so it was worth it.

Luke was seeing his counselor twice per week, at least for now, along with a pretty rigorous study schedule to prep for his first classes in medical school. When they talked at night, Crowley always remembered to tell the brunet how proud he was of him for getting help.

“Have you ever considered it?” Luke asked apropo of nothing.

“Considered what?” They had been talking about where they might go for dinner on their second first date, and now Crowley was utterly confused.

“Seeing a counselor, therapist, whatever?” Luke clarified.

“Oh. Um… yeah. I had one appointed by the courts when I was emancipated at sixteen. He was totally useless and--I haven’t given up the idea of therapy in general. I think it’s a great thing. I just feel… weird about it,” Crowley explained.

“Hmmm,” the brunet started, “maybe now that you would be able to pick your own counselor it would be better? I know the fact that I click with Frank is definitely part of why it’s going well for me.”

“Um. Yeah. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt. But like… why the push, babe?”

“Well, face it, Anthony. You’re--I just mean--” the brunet stopped himself from talking. Crowley could hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to phrase the words. “You’re really sensitive. You’ve had a really rough go of life, especially when you were young, and that does things to a person,” Luke finished.

Crowley let out a stuttered sigh. He was trying not to cry, which he knew would only prove Luke’s point. “I’ll think about it, babe. But I've had a really bad experience, so it’s gonna take some time to come around to it.”

“Of course, love. I just want you to be happy.”

* * *

Their second first date came and went. At the end of it, Luke dropped Crowley off at his flat with a sweet, soft kiss that had the redhead beaming for the rest of the week. When they met up again, the two decided to order in and watch telly while cuddling on Crowley’s sofa. Cuddling turned into kissing when Luke wrapped his hand around Crowley’s head, tangling his fingers in the crimson locks. Kissing turned into more when Luke pulled on those locks, causing the redhead to moan wantonly.

“I want you, Luke,” Crowley breathed in the brunet’s ear. He was currently perched in the man’s lap, grinding their hips together.

“I’m yours, Anthony,” Luke whispered, capturing the redhead’s lips again. As their tongues tangled, the smaller man slithered off the sofa to settle onto his knees in front of the other. Crowley grabbed Luke’s knees, then ran his hands up the well-muscled thighs, parting them as he went. He ran his palm over the bulge in Luke’s jeans, smirking up at the brunet. Crowley worked down the zip with his teeth and tongue, using his hands to pop the button at the top. He slid the pants and underwear down at the same time, freeing the brunet’s cock to the cool air of the flat.

The redhead fell on him like a starving man, licking and sucking Luke to full hardness while working his own pants off. The weight on his tongue sent a frisson of desire down his spine. He reached between the sofa cushions and grabbed the bottle of lube he had stashed there earlier in a moment of confidence.

Crowley started slow, one lubed fingertip circling his entrance. Pushing, but not penetrating. 

“Oh, fuck,” Luke groaned when he opened his eyes. “Anthony, fuck, yes baby. Open yourself for me.”

Luke’s words had Crowley speeding up, a sense of urgency hitting him. He stopped teasing himself, pushing his index finger in. One finger became two, the vibration from his moaning as he massaged his prostate added extra stimulation for his boyfriend, the brunet grabbing at the sofa cushions. Once Crowley had three fingers inside, he deemed himself ready and let go of Luke’s cock with a _pop_ , crawling up to sit astride his hips. He rocked back and forth, closing his eyes in pleasure as the brunet’s hard length rubbed against his sensitive hole. Luke reached up a hand to tangle in his hair and pulled to get Crowley’s attention.

“You gonna do that all day, or are you going to fuck yourself on my cock like a good boy?” 

Crowley shivered with desire, nodding and reaching behind himself to position Luke’s dick at his entrance. The redhead braced both hands on the other’s shoulders as he sank down, a whispered hiss escaping his lips as he was filled. Crowley savored this moment--the feeling of _almost too much_ \--before starting to move. Lifting his hips until just the head remained, then leisurely letting himself back down. Maybe pinch one of Luke’s nipples while he was at it.

“You’re such a slut for this, aren’t you? You love my cock filling your greedy hole, fucking you senseless.” The redhead had no response to Luke except to whine, biting his lip. “You can’t even deny it, can you?” The brunet grabbed his hips and began thrusting up into him. “You were made to take my cock.”

Crowley tossed his head back, clutching at his hair and pulling. He came with a sob as Luke hammered his prostate, covering both of them in his spend. The redhead let his upper body collapse forward as his boyfriend continued fucking into him, pushing him into painful oversensitivity.

When Luke finally came, he clutched Crowley’s hips, back bowed and chest heaving. They shared a few sloppy kisses in the shower, then fell into bed. Crowley vibrated with bliss when Luke threw an arm over his ribs and pulled his back flush to the brunet’s chest. 

_This is where I belong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


	9. Scorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke asks Crowley to move in with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: panic attacks, manipulative behavior, bondage, dirty talk, internalized homophobia  
> If you think you may be triggered, please don't read. Be kind to yourself.

“Move to London with me.”

Crowley felt his jaw hanging open, and couldn’t find the wherewithal to close it. 

_What about law school?_

_What about my friends?_

_What about my flat?_

“I—But what about—” Crowley sputtered. His mind swirled with all the things he would have to abandon if he left Oxford. If he followed his boyfriend to London. “What about my job, Luke? My friends? And what about law school? I got accepted into the graduate program here--I can’t just quit school? What am I supposed to do with a pre-law degree?”

Luke wrapped his arms around the shorter man, an attempt to physically contain Crowley’s rising panic. He was shaking as he babbled, words devolving into tortured vowel sounds, then sobs as he began crying.

_I either have to leave everything I’ve ever known and everything that I have built for myself or my boyfriend is going to leave me. The only man who has ever given a damn about me - the only person who has ever given a fuck about my stupid-worthless-panicky-broken-arse - he’s going to leave me when he sees that I don’t want to go with him. But I do want to go with him but how can I just leave everything here and what about my future but what about our future oh god help me i cant breathe icantbreathe_

“Sweetness, look. Look at me. Anthony!” Luke yelled when he realized he couldn’t be heard over Crowley’s inner monologue. The redhead’s face snapped up, staring at the brunet with wide, wet eyes. Crowley’s tears made the amber of his irises shine as his eyes darted around the room, finally settling to gaze just to the side of the taller man’s face.

“Anthony,” softer now, that Crowley was looking at the brunet, sort of. “I just want to be with you. And I want you to want to be with me. But I understand you have a life here. And moving is hard. But I think we are the real deal--I want us to be together. Don’t you?”

The redhead nodded, still unable to speak around the lump in his throat. Luke didn’t seem to mind, plowing on with barely a pause.

“You can get a barista job anywhere, baby. There are coffee shops on nearly every corner in London, you’ll be employed in no time! And don’t worry about school; weren’t you accepted to a program in the city as well?”

Crowley just shook his head, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stand for Luke to see him right now. He _had_ been accepted to _two_ different unis in London, but when he had gotten into the Law program at Oxford, he had sent in his letters to both letting them know not to hold his place. There would be no way to transfer at this point; he was going to have to choose between his dreams and the only person who gave a shit about him.

“Luke. I acc-accepted a spot at O-Oxford already,” Crowley hiccoughed. “I had to tell-to tell the other places that I was going somewhere else. I had to decline their offers,” he finally met the brunet’s eyes, face wet. “I fucked up, I’m so sorry! I ruined everything!” 

Crowley threw his arms up over his head, a protective gesture, as he backed away sobbing. He didn’t turn to watch his step and tripped over a side table, falling bodily onto the floor. Luke rushed to his side.

“Baby! Oh my god! Are you okay?” the brunet leaned over him, turning his face to check for bleeding. “Can you sit up?” Luke wound an arm under Crowley’s back and lifted, propping the redhead up.

“Anthony, sweetheart. Please, look at me. I need to see your eyes.” The redhead shook his head, turning away from his boyfriend. “I need to see if you’re concussed, Anthony. Look at me, now,” the brunet repeated in a firmer tone. Unable to deny Luke a second time, Crowley turned his golden gaze on him.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” The larger man rocked their entwined bodies, whispering. “We’re going to be okay.”

* * *

“You WHAT?!” Anathema screeched.

“What she _means_ , Crowley, is that we thought you were planning on going to law school here. Why the sudden change?” Sammy asked. “Not that we wouldn’t love to have you closer,” she amended while Lilith nodded.

“I was. I mean, I had planned to. But then Luke found a great place in London, big enough for both of us, and he asked me to move in with him. I was accepted to a couple of programs there as well, so I shouldn't have any problems as far as schooling.” Crowley answered, subdued and wishing everyone on the patio would stop staring. The restaurant he and the girls had chosen for brunch was nice, but it wasn’t like they were at the Ritz. Surely they had seen people get excited before. The redhead looked across the table at Anathema, who simply crossed her arms and glared.

“That’s great, _cuervito,_ ” Lilith smiled. “You can come see us every weekend!”

“Ooh! And we can introduce you to our bookclub!” Sammy giggled.

“You know I don’t read,” Crowley snarked.

Anathema grumbled.

“Let it out, then,” Crowley gestured at the witch to speak.

She pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose before speaking. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Crowley sighed. He had been expecting this from Lilith, but not Ana. He has expected his oldest friend to understand him better.

“Look, Ana. I totally get it, you’re still pissed at him, and I totally understand why. But Luke is in therapy, and we have been taking it slow, and he’s doing amazing. He’s really like a whole new person.”

“Did you completely forget what he did to you? What you were like that night? Terrified to go home?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” Crowley snapped _sotto voce,_ when he noticed other patrons glaring at them. “I was the one with the bruise, thank you very much! And I’ve managed to move on, so why the hell haven’t you?” Now he was half-standing, hands braced on the table and leaning over it to get into the witch’s face. She mirrored his posture, brushing Sammy off when the blonde tried to put a calming hand on her shoulder.

“I just cannot fathom why you would go back to him? Are you really that desperate? That pathetic?” 

“How. Dare. You.” Crowley breathed. He pushed back from his aggressive stance, toppling the chair behind him and tossing a handful of crumpled bills onto the table to pay for his meal as he walked away. His mind was carefully blank as he stomped down the street, definitely not wiping at his eyes. _I’m not desperate. I’m not pathetic. I’m not. I’m not._

Crowley wandered into Luke’s building in a daze. He found himself knocking on the brunet’s door, wondering why his vision was so blurry.

“Babe, how did it go?” Luke asked as he opened the door. As soon as he saw the redhead’s hanging head, he switched tack. “Come in, baby. I’ll make you a cuppa and you can tell me about it.”

* * *

Crowley shifted on the sofa to cuddle closer to his boyfriend. Luke bussed a kiss to the top of his head and squeezed the redhead into his chest. 

“You wanna go to bed?”

“Yes, please,” Crowley sighed. “‘M knackered.”

"Too tired to play?" Luke smirked.

"I didn't say that." The redhead swaggered into the bedroom.

* * *

Crowley slithered to his knees next to the bed and gazed up at the brunet through his lashes. Luke cradled his cheek, stroking his thumb over his cheek. He held his shaft in the other hand, and Crowley licked his lips hungrily.

“You want this?” Luke rubbed a thumb over his tip, spreading the pearl of precum there in a tease. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth?”

Crowley nodded eagerly, leaning forward to engulf the prick in front of him, taunting him, when the brunet’s hand grabbed his hair. Luke used his grip to tilt his head back, looking into his hazel eyes.

“Patience, slut. You’ll get my cock when _I_ decide you deserve it. Not before,” Luke said with a silky voice. “Tell me why I should _let_ you suck me, whore. Beg me.”

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine, skin tingling at Luke’s words,. This, they had been working on since Luke started therapy. The redhead still felt a little strange the his boyfriend discussed their sex life with a stranger—a stranger who was getting paid!—but it had proven exceptionally helpful. Luke had suggested (or Frank, his counselor had suggested, via Luke) that they try changing up how they approached sex, especially oral, in order to keep Crowley in the moment. After a few honest, but mortifying conversations, the pair had settled on a domination scene. Firm boundaries and roles had been set, and Luke reassured Crowley constantly that he held all of the power in his safeword. One word and everything would stop.

Crowley opened his mouth, wetting his lips. “Please, I need it. I’m so hungry for cock, Luke. I crave it, it’s all I think about. Fuck my mouth, please,” he begged. He could feel himself drooling and swallowed thickly, waiting for the brunet’s judgement.

The hand in his hair tightened and drew him forward onto Luke’s cock as he spoke in a low growl. “You beg so beautifully. Turns out your mouth is good for more than just swallowing my cock.” Then he began moving his hips; he set a leisurely pace at first, holding fast to Crowley’s hair to keep him in place. The redhead shut his eyes to focus on the sensations. The silkiness of Luke’s skin; the musky, masculine smell of him; the salt of skin against his tongue. The heady combination went straight to his dick which throbbed with desire. He humped uselessly into the air as Luke quickened his pace.

Luke noticed his movement, grip in the crimson locks tightening. “Naughty little slut. Did you think this was about you?” he laughed. “Keep still or I won’t let you come at all tonight, got it?” 

Crowley nodded, wrapping his dexterous tongue around the head. He tried to show Luke his submission with his lips and tongue. It seemed to work as the brunet resumed pumping his hips and fucking into the redhead’s mouth with deep grunts and an occasional curse. His head spun with Luke’s words as he fell further into his role, everything else floating away. _I exist only for your pleasure,_ Crowley thought. 

Then Luke’s cock hit the back of his throat making him gag. The redhead’s eyes popped open in surprise, and he tried to pull away to catch his breath. But the brunet’s hand held him fast, and he could feel the panic rising. They had been so careful discussing safe words, but he didn’t know what to do now that his mouth was occupied. His hands were bound behind his back—at first it had been exhilarating and sexy, the control being taken away, putting everything into Luke’s capable hands. But now he was struggling against the bonds, hoping he could tap on his boyfriend’s thigh if he were free. His vision began to blur as he felt Luke’s cock swell in his throat; he was coming and Crowley had no option but to wait until it was done.

When Luke finally pulled back, the redhead coughed, gasping for breath. Luke ran his hand through the red locks, whispering to Crowley—words of encouragement maybe? He couldn’t parse any of it over the ringing in his ears and his own coughing. Finally catching his breath he managed to gasp out his safe word.

“Frogs,” he croaked, head bent forward and chest heaving with effort.

“What was that, slut?” Luke asked, still in the scene. Crowley shook his head and tried again to free his hands.

“Frogs. Luke, please. Stop.” He couldn’t manage above a whisper, but his tone was definitely begging.

Luke dropped to his knees next to him immediately. “Oh my god, are you okay? What happened, baby?” Luke reached behind him to free his hands and bring them around for inspection. Finding angry red lines where Crowley had fought to get loose, Luke peppered the damaged skin with kisses. 

“Can you talk to me sweetheart?”

“I—I” Crowley started, but then found himself overcome with shame. They had put so much work into this, and here he was about to ruin it all. _Because you never learned to deepthroat, you useless_ _queer._ “I just wasn’t expecting—and then I couldn’t talk, or, or tap your thigh or anything. And I panicked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this for probably a month? Feeling like it wasn't finished enough to post, and maybe it isn't, but I'm sick of it sitting around. So, please enjoy my offering of half-baked plot/porn with a promise of more to come soon!


	10. Burnout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Luke's relationship is solidified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: tattoos, manipulative behavior
> 
> Also, we finally get to meet Azi!

Leaves began to change colors, and Crowley found himself pulling his jackets tighter around himself on his way home from work. The cafe in London wasn’t much different to his old job, but the tips were a bit better, and without school to worry about he had time to work more hours. It seemed only fair, seeing as how Luke busted his arse all day in his classes and study groups; Crowley brought in as much money as he could.

_ It’s just a couple of years. When Luke is a doctor, then you’ll get your turn, and you’ll go to school full time. Just be patient. _

When the redhead walked into the flat, Luke sat in the small living area, waiting. Dread washed over him—had he done something wrong? Forgotten to check in? Maybe if he played dumb, Luke would take it easy on him.

“Hey babe, are you alright? You’re not usually home this early,” Crowley tried to sound casually curious. Sweet.

“I’m fine—great, in fact! I had a brilliant idea today while in the cadaver lab and I ditched my study group so we could go.”

Crowley held in his sigh of relief. Luke wasn’t mad at him. But what could be so important it couldn’t wait until the weekend?

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

* * *

“Ah, here we are!” Luke said as he pulled the car into a parking space in front of a pub. Crowley raised a brow, and the brunet pointed across the street. The neon sign in the shop’s window read “Celestial Ink,” the words bracketed with cartoon wings.

“A tattoo shop?”

“Yeah!” Luke nodded. “I’ve been wanting to do something special for you, so I made an appointment here and I’m gonna get your initials right here,” he poked a finger at his chest, just over his heart.

“Luke!” Crowley cried. “That’s so …” he trailed off. “There aren’t words. Tattoos are permanent, you know?” he finished, cheeks flaming at the obviousness of his last statement.

“Yeah, babe,” Luke chuckled. “That’s kinda the point. I want you with me forever.”

“I don’t know what to say. I love you so much, but I’m not ready—I mean. Are you asking—“ 

“Oh! God, no! I mean, I’m not ready either. We just graduated, moved in together. I just thought this would be a good way to show you how much I love you. How dedicated I am this time around,” Luke squeezed Crowley’s hand.

“I love that,” the redhead cooed, then pulled the brunet in for a kiss. “I love you. Let’s go.”

They walked hand-in-hand into the shop, the little bell tinkling as the door opened. A tall, broad shouldered man greeted them at the front, shaking both their hands and introducing himself loudly as Gabriel. He chatted briefly with Luke to confirm the design he wanted and where he planned to get it before handing him a clipboard and pen.

“What about you?” Gabriel turned to Crowley, who started at his boisterous voice.

“What about me?” the redhead asked.

“What’re you getting? Luke, you did book your boyfriend for something, didn’t you?” Gabriel started to flip through his appointment book to check for Crowley’s name, but Luke stopped him.

“No, mate. This is my gift to him. It was a surprise so I wasn’t gonna book an appointment without his consent,” he explained.

“Of course! Well, if you change your mind, just let us know,” Gabriel smiled.

“Actually,” Crowley said, surprising even himself, “could I book an appointment? For the same thing that Luke’s getting. But, you know, the opposite? His initials on me?”

“Babe, are you sure?” Luke looked at the redhead intensely, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just… maybe only the first initial for now? We can decide on last initials in the future—yeah?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully and bit his lip in anticipation. But Luke didn’t keep him waiting. Instead he scooped him up, arms around his waist and twirled him around the shop, only setting him on his feet to claim his lips.

“When did you get so fucking perfect?”

“Always have been. Just waiting for you to notice,” Crowley winked.

Gabriel cleared his throat to get their attention. “You’re in luck! My brother is free right now, so he can tattoo you, Anthony, while I do Luke’s.” Crowley nodded, then whipped his head around when he heard a posh voice from the back of the shop.

“My ears are burning, Gabe. What are you signing me up for, now?” asked a blond man, a little shorter than Crowley himself, and quite a bit heavier, particularly round the middle. He had soft eyes, crinkled at the edges from smiling, as he was now. Crowley’s heart raced just looking at the man.

“Luke’s boyfriend here decided he wanted to get a little something as well. You’re free right now, right Sunshine?” Gabe asked, clapping Crowley on the back.

“Yeah, I’m free. What did you have in mind?”  _ Sunshine _ waved Crowley toward the back of the shop. He looked back at Luke, but the brunet had already turned away, chatting to the loud American tattoo artist.

“Um, like Luke’s, but the opposite. I mean—an L on my chest, over my heart. Like he’s getting an A on his,” Crowley touched his left pec to demonstrate.

“Should be simple enough. Any color in mind? Script?” the blond asked. Crowley sat in the proffered chair, taking in the art on the walls.

“Um, I’m not sure,” he bit his lip. “This is my first tattoo.”

“Well, then! Let me be the first to welcome you to the world of body art! I’m Azi, feel free to ask me any questions you like,” the blond—Azi—held out his hand for Crowley to shake.

“Crowley. Er, how badly is this going to hurt? Because I don’t like pain,” he said, then winced at how idiotic he sounded. Apparently Azi had heard some iteration of this before, because he just laughed gently.

“It’s not going to tickle,” Azi said. “But it’s certainly not the most painful spot. For most people anywhere very bony is very painful, as are erogenous zones, like the underarms and groin. Places with lots of nerves,” he finished while Crowley just stared.  _ Who the fuck gets their groin tattooed? _

“Who the fuck gets their groin tattooed?”

The blond laughed loudly at the redhead’s outburst, bending double when he saw Crowley clap a hand over his mouth. “That was meant to be an inside thought, I take it?” he smirked, and Crowley nodded. “Well, dear boy, I have to say, anyone making that particular choice is far braver than I am. I may have my fair share of ink--more than--but certain parts of the body are just sacred. Don’t you agree?”

“Definitely.” Then it hit Crowley that he hadn’t actually seen any tattoos on Azi. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are your tattoos?”

The blond smiled again and turned from where he had been setting up his station—needles in paper wrappers, tiny plastic containers for… something? Ink maybe? A razor. A plastic cup full of water. And the largest stack of paper towels he had ever seen. 

“How silly of me! Of course you don’t want to get your first tattoo from someone who looks as if they have none. Just a moment, Crowley,” he said, then began to unbutton his shirt. The redhead watched with wide eyes as the flannel opened, inch by inch to reveal… a white tee underneath. Then Azi unbuttoned the cuffs as well and doffed the outer layer entirely.

He was covered in ink.

Flowers peaked out from the collar of the v-neck of his t-shirt; a black and red snake wound its way down his  right arm, surrounded by more flowers and filigree; his left arm seemed to be more of a hodge-podge—what looked like script wrapping around his bicep, a Kraken on his forearm, and on his elbow, a glowing blue eye. And that was just what Crowley could see.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered in awe. “How many do you have?”

“At this point, it’s not about number, but amount of time under the needle. Probably around oh, one-hundred and fifty hours or so by now. Maybe a little more.”

“That’s like… six days!” 

“Well, it wasn’t all at once, dear boy,” Azi laughed again. Everything about his demeanor seemed carefully constructed to put Crowley at ease. Which was good, because he was on the verge of freaking out.

“How long is this going to take? Do you think?”

“Are you in a rush? If you are then I would make the suggestion that you stick with black script, something simple. Otherwise I wanted to revisit the idea of color,” Azi stated.

“Oh, er. No rush. Just, still, you know, nervous about the pain,” Crowley stammered. “As for color, I don’t know. Is rainbow too on the nose?”

In lieu of an answer, the blond spun around in his work chair and lifted the back of his t-shirt. Down the center of his back, a glorious sword outlined in multicolored flames. “Is this too on the nose?”

Crowley found himself reaching out to touch and pulled his hand back just in time. “It’s exquisite,” he whispered as Azi let his shirt back down, hiding the piece again. “It’s like it… it’s glowing.”

“Thank you. Or I suppose Gabe should thank you. It’s his work. Although I designed it.” He turned back to the redhead, “Now, for yours, I would suggest a black outline, and a rainbow gradient inside—like this,” he made a quick sketch on a scrap of paper showing a capital L made of flowing lines. “The color will hold better if there’s an outline for it. Of course, the outline doesn’t have to be black—we could pick a color as well if you wanted, but something to keep the color inside from bleeding out.” 

“Oh, would you be able to do the outline in rainbow too? Like, make it go with the inside?” Crowley pointed ineffectually at the sketch, but Azi apparently understood him.

“Of course we can, dear boy. It will just take a little bit longer, that’s all. Now pop off your shirt, and I’ll get you prepped so we can get started.”

Crowley blushed while pulling his shirt over his head. When he tossed it on the back of the chair he was sitting in, he shook out his hair. After a moment’s thought, he twisted it into a bun on top of his head.

“I’m going to lay you down now, if that’s alright, Crowley,” the blonde said as he reached toward the chair. The redhead nodded and with a pulled lever, he fell backward, lying supine. The table lifted, bringing him closer to the artist, and his blush moved down over his chest.  _ You thought Luke was attractive, ha! You dumbass. _

“I need to shave your chest, is that okay?”

“Um, sure,” Crowley said. “Can I ask why?”

“Of course you can, dear boy. It just makes a smoother surface for me to tattoo. You don’t want the hair in the way of the needle,” Azi explained.

“Oh man,” the redhead laughed. “I can just imagine Luke’s face when he sees himself - half-shaved with a big red A on his chest. He’s going to be so grumpy until it grows back.”

Azi paused in the strokes of the razor. “Oh? I thought your name was Crowley. My apologies, dear boy, Have I been calling you the wrong name this whole time? What do you prefer to be called?”

“No, no. It’s fine,” the redhead insisted. “Crowley is right.”

“Ah,” Azi said in a measured tone. “I see.” Crowley could tell from his voice, he absolutely did  _ not _ see. “Your boyfriend is getting an ‘A’ over his heart—I thought it was for your name, although I suppose it could be short for a pet name, like angel or somesuch. But I also suppose it’s none of my business.” He leaned over, using a green sharpie to sketch the design onto the hairless patch of Crowley’s chest. When he finished, he held up a mirror for the redhead to see; Crowley nodded eagerly, so Azi began assembling his gun.

“Ha! Neither of us is an angel, that’s for certain. Luke calls me Anthony, which is my given name. I typically prefer Crowley though, so no worries.”

“Alright then,” the artist said. “Well, are you ready?”

“As I’m ever going to be, I suppose,” the redhead replied, steeling himself. The buzz of the gun started, and Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. When the needles touched his skin, he gasped a shallow breath. As a pleasant surprise, the stinging wasn’t nearly as painful as he thought it would be.

“That’s not as bad as I thought,” Crowley said.

“Ha! I knew you’d take it well, my dear.”

_ Don’t let Luke hear you talk like that. _

“I’m sorry, what was that?” The artist paused the buzzing gun and turned fully to Crowley.

“I didn’t say anything,” the redhead felt his face flaming; surely his cheeks matched his hair. Had he actually said that aloud?

“Hmm.” Azi returned to his work, and in seemingly no time at all, he announced Crowley done. He handed him the mirror again, the redhead smiling uncontrollably at the final result.

“It’s fantastic! I can’t wait for Luke to see it. Is he done?”

“Should be, dear. Can I ask you a question though?” Azi asked nervously. Crowley looked at him; the blond hadn’t been nervous the entire session. His confidence was contagious.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“I want to pry, but are you safe in your relationship?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Crowley blew up. How dare this stranger stick his nose in his business?

“I just noticed some of the things you’ve been saying, and I wanted to offer help, should you need it.”

“Well I don’t need your help, or anybody’s help, thank you very much. Now, can I please go see my  _ boyfriend _ who came here to get a permanent symbol of  _ his love for me _ on his chest?”

Crowley stomped out of the back room followed by a meek Azi. Luke showed off his red A to Crowley, who kissed him aggressively in response. They paid, then listened to the rundown of aftercare instructions. Gabe turned to greet another client who had walked in, so Azi finished the spiel.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call,” he said as he grabbed a card and wrote something on the back. He handed this to Crowley, who took it without looking and stuck it in his trouser pocket.

* * *

As the redhead undressed that evening, he rediscovered the card. The front just had the information for the shop, along with Instagram account information for both artists. When Crowley flipped the card over, his heart stopped; Azi had added a number for a domestic violence hotline.

_ Luke can’t see this. _

Crowley looked over his shoulder, then realized he could still hear the shower running. He breathed a small sigh of relief. He had time.

The trash wasn’t safe—Luke could go through it and find it. He had to burn it.

Crowley opened up one of his pumpkin spice candles, which he knew Luke would tease him about, but it was so much better than the alternative. He lit the candle, and held the card over the flame until it caught. He dropped the burning cardstock into the sink, and let it burn to ash, rinsing the final evidence down the drain. The candle’s scent would cover the smell by the time Luke exited the bathroom.

_ Safe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so close! Only one (1) more chapter of Luke's bullshit (I promise)! I am so excited to move on from that portion of the story.


	11. Headlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: violence, domestic/intimate partner violence, hair pulling (not the sexy kind), name-calling, reckless/drink-driving, car accident, hospitals, minor injuries, eye injuries, police presence
> 
> If you think you may be triggered, please don't read. Be kind to yourself.

Crowley walked into the flat after his closing shift at the café and froze. Luke sat on the sofa holding the redhead’s phone.

 _So that’s why I couldn’t find it_ , he thought. Quickly followed by, _Oh, fuck._

“Hey babe,” the brunet greeted tersely. “How was work?” Luke didn’t look up from Crowley’s phone, just kept scrolling.

“It was good,” Crowley started. “Forgot my phone. Thanks for finding it.”

“Hmm,” Luke said. “I found more than just your phone, Anthony.”

Crowley stood, still frozen in the entryway. “What,” he swallowed. “What did you find?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Luke’s voice, though quiet, had a razor’s edge. His words cut.

“Find out what?” 

_Please don’t let him see that I Googled the hotline. Please don’t let him see that I Googled the hotline._

_Please don’t let him see that I—_

“You’ve been following him on Instagram you fucking whore!” Luke threw the phone at Crowley, who ducked, then cringed as he heard it shatter against the wall. Luke kept shouting, “Did you like the pain so much you needed to stalk him online? Do you need more? I can give you pain, you stupid slut!”

Luke grabbed Crowley by his hair, which the redhead had unfortunately worn down for the day. The brunet dragged the smaller man by his hair over to the door, the locks in the brunet’s hand tangling and twisting. The pain brought tears to Crowley’s eyes, his hands flying to try to free his hair as he screamed at Luke.

“Stop, Luke! Stop! Let me go!”

“No, I don’t think so. We’re going for a drive, sweetheart,” the brunet changed his grip to the back of Crowley’s neck, muscling him down the hallway and stairs. The redhead protested as he was shoved into Luke’s car.

“I promise, Luke! I was looking at the _artwork!_ That’s all!”

“Is that why you liked a post from eight months ago?” the brunet bellowed as he started the car and squealed out of the parking lot.

Luke drove recklessly, running red lights, speeding. Crowley sat numbly, unable to move or speak. He felt hardly able to breathe, the way Luke had taken the last corner. When Crowley finally found his voice, he screamed at him to pull over.

“Don’t you trust me?” Luke laughed.

“Not when you’re driving like a maniac! Are you out of your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Crowley shrieked, grabbing onto the dash to stabilize through a wild turn.

“Wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me! I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman—I’m taking you to see that fat queen you love so much!”

“Luke! I told you—I like his _artwork_! You’re the one who dragged me to get a fucking tattoo in the first goddamn place!”

Luke’s hand snapped across Crowley’s face. The pain bloomed over his cheek in a familiar way, tears springing from his eyes. He looked out the window, bruise forming around his eye; he saw headlights. The brightness made him blink in the dark.

_Maybe this will all be over now._

Even as he closed his eyes, the headlights of the oncoming car burned through his eyelids.

Then nothing.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Eurrrgh.”

“Oh! Good you’re awake!” A friendly voice came from Crowley’s left. He opened his eyes, or tried to? He must not have, he couldn’t see. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh no! Dear, don’t try to talk. You’ve bitten your tongue very badly—you’ve got stitches and you need to rest,” the nurse approached him, and he flinched as they touched his shoulder. The nurse pulled away.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to check your IV now, okay? I have to touch your arm.”

Crowley nodded.

The nurse turned his left arm over, lightly touched his inner forearm, then patted his hand. “There, there. All settled. Tell me, Mr. Crowley, can you see?” 

Crowley forgot himself, and opened his mouth to speak again, prompting the nurse to correct themself. “Ah! Silly me. Nod or shake your head, please. Can you see?”

Crowley shook his head. 

“Okay dear. You just wait here, I’m going to find the doctor. I’ll let her know you’re awake and aware, but that you can’t see. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

Another shake.

“Would you like something for anxiety?”

Nod.

The nurse gave him something in his IV, which at first felt like ice, then like numb indifference spreading through his veins. He relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes.

Crowley was startled awake a few minutes later by a new voice calling his name. 

“Mr. Crowley? I’m Doctor Michael. Nurse Beez said you were having some trouble seeing?”

Crowley nodded in what he hoped was the doctor’s direction.

“Okay. I’m going to take a look at your eyes, alright? I’m going to touch your face, but not your eye itself, okay?”

Nod.

The doctor did whatever examination and Crowley sat there. Helpless. Mute. _Alone._ He jumped when he heard the door open and someone else walk in.

“So, I need to ask you just a couple of questions before the doctor send you for more tests. Firstly, do you remember what happened to you? Why you’re in hospital?”

“Officer, Mr. Crowley can neither talk to give a statement, nor can he even see you right now,” Doctor Michael told the gruff officer.

“Fine. Mr. Crowley, please nod for ‘yes,’ shake your head for ‘no,’ understand?” Crowley nodded. “Good. Now, do you remember why you are here in hospital?”

 _Headlights_.

He nodded.

“Okay. You remember that you were in a car accident?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember who was driving?”

Nod.

“Were you driving, Mr. Crowley?”

Shake. _No! It was Luke!_

“Alright, it’s alright, Mr. Crowley. We just needed to confirm that Mr. Morgenstern was driving the car. The police are processing him now. When you’re feeling better, we will have you down to the station to make an official statement, alright?”

Dress shoes tapped against the tile floor, then the door clicked open and shut again.

“I apologise for that interruption, Mr. Crowley. So a brief examination of your eyes shows significant trauma to the iris, possibly permanent, but I need a scan to be certain. You may or may not have permanent vision loss. We will have to wait and see. Aside from your eyes, you also have a very serious laceration to your tongue—it looks like you bit it—and your left ankle was crushed in the impact. You’re going to be on crutches for a while, young man.”

The redhead sat, cataloguing his injuries. Now that he had been reminded, he could feel the foreign discomfort of stitches in his tongue, and the constricting weight of the cast on his left foot. But nothing frustrated him more than not being able to see.

The next few days saw an improvement in Crowley’s vision, for which he was infinitely grateful. The doctor now thought he would have short-term iris damage called traumatic iritis. He hoped to someone that they would heal fully, because when Nurse “Just-call-me-Beez” gave him a mirror to brush his hair, the new shape of the pupil in each eye made him recoil in horror. 

By the end of a week’s stay in hospital, his vision and tongue had healed enough for him to communicate his needs to the medical staff and arrange for a lift home.

When he stepped into the flat, Crowley’s mind spun. He leaned on his crutches, looking at his shattered phone in the same place as a week ago. Crowley was slowly coming to terms with the fact that if he stayed with Luke one of them is not going to make it out alive.

_ Probably me. _

He spent a good few hours cleaning up the flat, sweeping broken glass, and rearranging the furniture as best he could in order to make his own navigation with crutches easier.

In the morning, Crowley’s first task was getting a new phone. Luckily, he had been setting money aside for a while now, under the guise of saving for school. He had known, somewhere inside, that those funds would buy his freedom someday.

Once he had his new phone in hand, he started researching new, much more affordable flats. The place he shared with Luke was far out of his budget, and the pettier side of him relished the idea of leaving the brunet with the debt. Luke had never put Crowley’s name on the rental paperwork; he had used it as another way to control him. Another thing to hold over Crowley’s head.

_ Fuck him. _

Crowley put his newly purchased sunglasses on, shoved his phone in his pocket, and made his way out the door to catch his Uber to the police station to make his statement about the car accident. When he arrived, the front clerk kindly showed him to a room and got him a cup of water while he waited for the officer to come take his statement. When the man walked in, Crowley immediately recognized him by his footfalls on the tile. He was the same officer that had questioned him in hospital.

“Mr. Crowley, thank you for coming in. I’m Sergeant Shadwell. I’ll be taking your statement today.”

“You. Were. In. Hosssspital.” Crowley said slowly, but clearly. He had bitten almost entirely through his tongue in the accident, though the doctor wasn’t sure how. Stitches had saved his appendage, his speech suffered. 

“Er, yes. That was me. So. Just tell me what happened, in your own words.”

Crowley could tell that Sergeant Shadwell grew bored by his slow speech, but the man seemed to perk up when he mentioned that Luke had backhanded him before the accident.

“He hit you?” the Sergeant stopped him to clarify, holding up a hand to say  _ wait a minute. _

“Yeah. Not. The. Firssst. Time.”

“Okay, Mr. Crowley, here’s the thing—“

“Jussst. Crowley.”

“Sorry. Crowley. Here’s what’s happening right now, in case no one has told you. Your statement right now is just a matter of protocol. Luke was high when the paramedics pulled him out of that car. He ran a light, the accident was his fault.And the other driver, well, it doesn’t look like they’re going to make it. Luke is going to prison, Crowley.”

Crowley let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. And then the tears started. Which really hurt his eyes—the extra swelling crying caused made his eyes ache fiercely. He wiped his face gently with a tissue, then turned back to the Sergeant.

“Can. I?” the redhead pointed to the pen and pad of paper. Sergeant Shadwell nodded, pushing the writing tools across the table.

Crowley wrote for a moment then pushed the paper back.

_ Unless the law changed while I was in hospital, I can file charges against someone already in jail, correct? _

“Ha! ‘Course you can, my boy! Oh! Sorry again. I just went through that newfangled pronouns training. What’s your pronouns?”

“He. Him. Thanksssss.” 

Shadwell helped Crowley file intimate partner violence charges against Luke along with finalizing his statement. He gave Crowley the names of several psychologists he could contact, and hotlines. Crowley recognized the one that Azi had written on the business card he burned.

_ Azi. _

When Crowley got back to the flat, he continued with making his plans to move out. He was going to look at two promising flats tomorrow, and he had packed about half of his things. As he scrolled through Instagram, he remembered the blond tattoo artist. 

The print out Shadwell had given him glared at him from the side table. Crowley didn’t typically believe in signs, omens, or those other witchy things Anathema was always on about, but this felt like fate.

The redhead pressed send before he could second-guess himself into oblivion, then set his phone aside. He tried to lose himself in reruns of the Golden Girls and when it got dark, he took his pain meds and fell asleep.

_ Azi, this is Crowley. I just wanted to say thank you. For caring, and for giving me a way out. I wasn’t ready just then, but I am now. And it’s just so… nice to know I’m not alone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! Luke is gone, baby! Crowley still has a ton of healing to do, but he is finally free!
> 
> Also, I really like the idea of a Shadwell who tries very hard to be up with the times, but just gets frustrated with the terminology. But he’s trying—basically, he has a heart of gold, he’s just not that bright.


	12. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not 100% happy with this ending, as it feels incomplete. BUT, there is going to be a sequel (it is underway!) so I guess that's okay?
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through my very first longish fic!

_I’m so glad that you’re safe. You found a place to stay?_

_Hi! Yeah. Well, sort of. I’m still in the same place, but, um… Luke’s in jail._

_Oh my goodness! May I ask what happened?_

_He dragged me into his car, got into an accident. He was high. Killed the other driver._

_Are you alright?_

_Physically? Mostly. Broke my ankle in a few places, so that’s in a cast. Just got the stitches out of my tongue, but I have speech therapy for the next month._

_Stitches! In your tongue?!_

_Yeah, the doctor couldn’t reckon how I did that either. My eyes are also fucked. Traumatic iritis. Do NOT Google it._

_Noted. Is your vision affected?_

_It’s mostly clear, but I’m really sensitive to light now. Wear sunglasses almost all the time._

_But enough about me. How have you been? Any interesting clients?_

_Oh, yes! One young lady came in for a half sleeve, a tribute for her mother who passed recently. Anyway, she’s a teacher and she had the funniest stories about her students._

_A tattooed teacher? I feel like I got cheated in my education._

_Oh, you would like her Crowley. She said a student called her “Grandma,” last week! She’s 32!_

_Oh shiiit. Did the student make it out alive?😅_

_She dressed up in her grandmother’s clothes and brought the class homemade cookies. The class didn’t even recognise her at first! 😂😂😂_

_Where were the teachers like this when I was in school?_

_Indeed. Oh! I’m afraid I must go. My next client just walked in. Ta!_

* * *

Crowley tapped out of the texting app, then opened up Uber. He ordered a lift, then headed downstairs. He didn’t want to be late for lunch.

Lunch was at a vegetarian bistro. Not Crowley’s normal fare, but he had checked out the menu online, and it looked decent. When he noticed his “date,” he waved and headed to their table.

“Hi. I’m. Crowley.” He held out his hand to shake with the woman at the table.

“Hello Crowley. I’m Amma. This is my daughter, Pippin Galadriel—“

“Muu-uummm!” a medium sized child whined at Crowley’s right. “It’s Pepper!”

“Hi. Pepper.” Crowley held out his hand for the girl to shake. He grasped it lightly, and she scowled.

“Don’t hold back just because I’m a girl. That’s sexist!” she spat.

“I’m. Ssssorry. I—“ Crowley started.

“Pepper, don’t. The man is injured, let him sit down. I’m sorry, Crowley. Please,” she gestured to the one empty chair at the table.

They ordered lunch over small talk, the meal eaten in relative silence when that ran out. Crowley shifted in his seat, awkward tension building with every quiet second.

“Ssso. My. Exsss-boy. Friend. Killed your. Hussssband.”

_What the actual fuck?!?_

“I’m ssssorry,” the redhead said, covering his face with his hands. “I. Don’t. Know. Why. I. Ssssaid. That.”

Amma sighed. “You’re not wrong, Crowley. Luke did kill my husband. Pepper’s dad,” she sniffled, putting an arm around her daughter who puffed out her chest. “But he almost killed you as well.”

Crowley shook his head. This wasn’t about him. He was meant to be… he wasn’t certain.

_Apologising for Luke’s shitty behaviour?_

_Someone knows, he won’t._

The redhead closed his eyes, feeling tears stinging his eyes. Even more than usual, since they hadn’t healed completely, crying caused extra inflammation that made them ache. He jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Pepper.

“I’m glad Luke didn’t kill you Crowley. You’re a good person. You just need to learn how to shake hands!” She nodded once, settling the matter, and made her way to the door. Her mom just squeezed his shoulder on the way after the strange, but charming girl.

* * *

_I met with them._

_With who, dear boy?_

_With the wife and daughter of the man that Luke killed in the accident._

😰 _How did it go?_

_Awkward af_

_I would imagine. Were they… nice?_

_Very. Which was worse._

_Why shouldn’t they be nice to you?_

_Because my piece of shit psychopath ex boyfriend killed their husband/dad! He was driving me_

_He was driving bc of me_

_Did you ask him to take you somewhere?_

_No._

_Did you force him into the car?_

_No._

_Then how was he driving because of you?_

_Because we were fighting and he forced me into the car and…_

_Well out loud it sounds stupid._

_It’s not stupid. You’re coming out of a relationship where you’ve been manipulated and lied to._

_How do you know so much about all this?_

_I’ve been through it._

_I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed._

_It’s okay. I wouldn’t have shared if I didn’t want to. And the same goes to you—you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. We don’t even have to talk about this if you don’t feel comfortable._

_I don’t actually have anyone else to talk to._

_I’m here. Whenever you need._

* * *

Over the weeks, Crowley continued his speech therapy, improving in leaps and bounds until he only hissed when he was really excited and spoke too quickly. His ankle healed as well, and he relished the freedom of walking without crutches. This also allowed him to finish packing and move house into his new, smaller flat. The landlord had not been sorry to see him go—all the yelling from Luke, the screaming and crying from Crowley, had not endeared them to the man. The redhead didn’t bother to tell him that Luke was in jail.

He’d find out somehow.

It had taken him longer than he wanted, but he had finally unpacked everything and recycled all the boxes, making his new flat look more like home. In a burst of uncharacteristic self-confidence, the redhead had also decorated the whole place in soft pastels and gold accents, with plants covering every available surface; his true style that Luke had been so critical of.

_It looks like a fucking chick did this._

Crowley loved the corner with a large window where he had put his desk, with the intention of having a study space; the natural light streamed through the sheer curtains he had hung, and he had shelves and shelves full of potted plants soaking in the sunlight.

_You and your fucking plants._

His bedroom was all soft pinks and golds and white, with fluffy pillows and knit blankets piled high on the bed. Crowley still hated sleeping alone, but having such and inviting bed helped. 

_Codependent little fuck. Need a blankie to help you sleep?_

_FUCK! Stop!_

Crowley breathed heavily through his nose, pressing his fingers to his temples. He would _not_ allow Luke to live in his head like this. He made his way into the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

After a moment of staring at his reflection, the voice hadn’t quieted, but gotten louder.

_Being into guys is no excuse for being such a GIRL, Anthony. You’re just never going to be a real man, are you?_

_Stop it!_

_What’re you gonna do? Cry? You cry at everything—just. Like. A. Chick. You even look like one with your hair._

Crowley barely remembered grabbing the scissors, and he definitely didn’t remember hacking at his long tresses, strands of crimson falling to the floor around him like autumn leaves. The one thing that _did_ stick in his mind was the shame he felt, face flaming, as he walked into the salon the next morning for an emergency haircut. Crowley sat, hangdog, in the chair as his stylist shed tears over his lost hair. They eventually decided on shaving the sides completely, while leaving the top and back longer, to grow out over time, if Crowley wanted to. The shortest bit was just a couple of inches long (“You got so close to your scalp here, Crowley!”), but it curled nicely, and in the front provided a bit of fringe.

_What will Azi think?_

“I now pronounce you gorgeous!” the stylist announced, patting the top of his head with the comb. Crowley left the shop feeling better, but still vulnerable without his long waves to hide behind. Twisting the beanie he’d worn to cover his own chop-job, he debated jamming it onto his head again. He tried to focus on other things as he walked home.

He went over his ever-shrinking to-do list:

  * Learn to talk again - check
  * Learn to walk again - check
  * Get a new flat - check
  * Fix hair - check
  * Reapply to law school
  * Apologize to Lil, Sammy, Ana
  * Ask Azi out
  * Stop being afraid



_Well now that the easy ones are out of the way…_

_So, how do you apologise to friends who were there for you at your lowest and then you just threw it all back in their face by getting back with him, then cutting off all contact?_

_I’m assuming this isn’t a hypothetical._

_No._

_Okay. It sounds simple, but just start with “I’m sorry.” And, since you asked my advice, I am going to give it: you don’t have to apologise for getting back with Luke. That’s not a personal failing. That’s how abusers work; they gaslight you into thinking their behavior is normal, so you stay with them._

_… I’ll get back to you on that._

_Food for thought, dear boy._

* * *

Lilith burst through Crowley’s front door, arms open wide. “Mi cuervito! It’s so good to see you!” she swept him up in a warm embrace, kissing his cheek. “Let me look at you,” she said, holding him at arm’s length. She took in his short locks, sunglasses, and walking cast. The brunette gave him a sad smile and ran her fingers through his hair.

“You look cute with it short,” Lilith said.

Crowley turned away, blushing. “Still not usssed to it,” he hissed. Then blushed harder listening to his speech impairment. 

“Give me the tour! Let’s see this new place!” the brunette said, so Crowley waved her in. The tour didn’t take long, but she oohed and aahed over all of his decor and plants. “I’m so happy for you. This place really looks like you, Crowley,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied, sitting heavily on the sofa. “Decided I deserve a nice space. Gonna need it when I start school again.” He peeked from the corner of his eye as Lilith’s eyes went wide.

“You’re going back to school again?” she squealed. He nodded. “I’m so proud of you! Let’s celebrate! I’ll call Sammy and Ana and Newt!” Lilith stopped when she saw Crowley turn away, biting his lip.

“Unless. Crowley. Do you not want to talk to them? That’s okay if you don’t,” she assured him, laying a hand gently on his arm. He shook his head.

“It’s not that. I want to talk to them. To see them. I just don’t know--” he cut himself off, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know if they want to see me,” he finished in a whisper.

Lilith soothed her hand across his back. “If I told you they definitely did want to see you, would you believe me?”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally.

“Would it be okay if I got everyone together? It doesn’t have to be here, cuervito--” she started, but he cut her off.

“I think,” he paused. “Yeah. I think it would be nice to have them over. Just. Just let me check the fridge--” he got up from the couch to check to see if he had anything to feed guests. “Actually, do you think they would come if I called? You can call Sammy, obviously,” Crowley said as he rifled through the fridge, then pantry, setting out ingredients for a [ quiche ](https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/cheesy-spinach-quiche/). He recalled that Ana loved spinach, Newt was fond of mushrooms, and who didn’t love cheese?

“Perfect! I’ll text Sammy, okay? Now put me to work. What do you need me to do here?” Lilith made her way into the kitchen, donning one of Crowley’s aprons.

Lilith chopped while Crowley made the crust. The rest of the gang made it to the flat by the time the quiche was in the oven. The flat had filled with the homey aroma, and Newt took a big whiff as soon as he walked in.

“Wow, Crowley! That smells great! What’re you making, mate?”

The redhead smiled at the bespectacled man’s oblivious joy at the simple notion of a meal with friends. Nerd-boy looked at him the same way he always did, which was the same way he looked at everyone*—kindly, a little intimidated, but with the hope that he’d made a new friend. Crowley couldn’t help but feel at ease in his presence.

(*With the exception of Anathema. Newt looked at her as if she had hung the moon. And who knows, for him, perhaps she had done.)

“Quiche is in the oven. And Sammy picked up some muffins on her way over. Tea and coffee are on the table.”

Newt made for the couch, reaching for a muffin and a cup to fill with coffee. Crowley didn’t have space in his flat for a dining table, but Lilith assured him that gathering around the coffee table would be fine. He busied himself with checking the oven unnecessarily to quiet his nerves. A tap on his shoulder made him jump.

“Sorry, ohmygodI’msosorry,” shelet out in a single breath. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Anathema half-whispered to him. She was doing her best to not be overheard by the three in the living area not ten feet away. And failing miserably.

“It’s fine, Witch,” Crowley smiled. “Food’s almost ready. You can sit down if you want.” He waved an oven mitt at the couch.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, twisting her hands together nervously. “I wanted to apologise, for being such a self-righteous bitch when… well, you know,” she trailed off nervously. She couldn’t quite meet his eye. Granted he was still wearing his sunglasses.

“Ana, it’s fi--” he cut himself off. “Well, it’s not fine. But it’s in the past. You were looking out for me, and I understand.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “But if you ever talk to me like that again, our friendship is over. Understand? Like… I don’t deserve to be talked to like that. That’s what _he_ was doing and,” Crowley swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I totally understand,” she nodded. “Tough love is one thing, but I was completely out of line. I’m so sorry,” Ana sniffled. Crowley wordlessly handed her a tissue, then flinched as the kitchen timer dinged.

“Sorry,” he apologised, “still a little jumpy. It’s the loud noises,” he explained, putting on mitts to take the quiche out of the oven. Crowley walked it slowly over to the coffee table and set it down in the middle. His friends looked from the quiche to him with a smile, and he sat down to join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the sequel, which will debut around December, if work doesn't completely obliterate me.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are experience domestic violence, visit https://www.thehotline.org/, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text LOVEIS to 22522  
> You are not alone.


End file.
